


Mirror Mirror

by FlushedDeck



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Amnesia, Dark Magic, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Other Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlushedDeck/pseuds/FlushedDeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loved America- adored him and wanted him all for himself. He didn't love him though, did he? Oh no, he left him all alone just like all that time ago. Alfred loves him though; Alfred cares, adores, and has eyes for only him. Even if he forgets everything but Alfred- even if he forgets himself.</p>
<p>England has been waiting to ask out America since the beginning of America's intervention during World War II. He never works up the courage to do so, until it is already too late. He doesn't want to give up America, because America is his and no one else's, so he instead casts a spell in order to have his own America- his own Alfred. Things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre & Now

**Author's Note:**

> Just to let you all know, some of this stuff is kind of dark, especially at the beginning and ending. Just be aware if that isn't your cup of tea you might not want to read this.

* * *

 

**_Mirror, mirror, please lend an ear- for your tale of love is told here._ **

            Arthur sighed watching his countrymen bicker over offensive strategies.  They had to take back France off all places. It was so they would be able ‘to plow through the rest of Europe straight to the Nazi’s heart,’ they’d be going to Berlin. It was tiring.  I was all _so tiring_. The bombs and fighting and death were tiring.

            War was different now. It wasn’t with men on horses with swords. It wasn’t looking another man dead in the eyes and stabbing him over and over again until they fell to the ground dripping blood, choking on their own cause of death- no. It was who had larger bombs, who had more tanks and firearms. It was about being able to kill people by the dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ -

            It was no longer personal.

            It was no longer _fun._

            In Arthur’s opinion anyways. He had been a pirate, he had been king of the world, but now he was being bombed into oblivion by planes. By machines where he couldn’t see the faces of the people doing it.

            Plunging a knife or sword into someone’s gut was personal. Even shooting them with a bayonet was personal. _‘Don’t shoot ‘til you see the whites of their eyes.’_

He missed the thrill of killing someone like that of seeing the total dread wash through their eyes when they realized they were going to _die_ because of him. Being able to see their life drain away with a flick of the wrist filled him with pride -a sick twisted pride- that fueled his hunger for blood and despair.

            He was the one who made people quiver with fear. He was the one who had murdered thousands, so many, many people of different countries that he lost count. His children had conquered and killed off millions more. He had been blood soaked in bright red coats and glinting, gold seeking eyes.

           He was reduced to a small island whose empire was falling apart being killed slowly, but surely, by Germans.

            “Hey, are you alright?”

            Arthur looked up to see the only shinning light in this hell hole; _America_. Sweet, sweet America, who had broken his heart once but had come back with a bright smile and the will to fight, to fight for _him._

“I believe the Blitz is simply starting to get to me once again Alfred. There is no need to worry,” he responded back. He needed to keep in check. He couldn’t show his true emotion for he had tried once already but _he_ didn’t like it. He _hated_ it. _He broke away. He **left**_ -

            “No need to worry my ass! Come on, maybe we can find somewhere for you to lie down for a while, ‘kay?”

            Arthur grinned inwardly. If it had truthfully showed, it would be twisted and full of impure intent. The other worried, the other cared-

            “Well,” he paused taking in a small breath. _Play it up, play it up._ “I suppose you are right. Do you think you could help me? I don’t think I can walk straight at the moment,” he broke off into a slight cough after that, making sure his voice cracked on the word moment.

            America’s face lit up in concern a moment later. “Of course, that’s why I am here right?”

            The Brit was soon excused from the meeting along with America. The other was supporting the other against his side, his legs were shaky and it hurt to go fast. An arm wrapped around his back, under his arm, and to his side. He leaned against the stronger build.

            America had grown. He was still a child, sure, but he was strong. He was strong, quick, and he had _come back._

            “How about right here. You can rest and I’ll stay awake in case someone needs us, okay?” America asked, carefully setting Britain down on a cot. They were in the infirmary. It was nice and quiet. It was quiet, where no one else was, they were alone.

            “Alright. That sounds fine America, thank you,” he reclined back, making sure to let out a fake hiss of pain. America’s hand quickly went to his back gently helping him lay down. Treating him like porcelain.

            “You need to take it easy Britain. We need you for the offensive on France. I’m thinking about proposing the title D-Day, personally because France is kind of a dick, but I’ll give them a different reason,” he told the other with another bright smile. Arthur let out a small laugh at that.

            “I suppose that would be appropriate, lad.”

            Arthur curled up a bit on himself clutching his hands to his chest. An idea popped into his mind, he made them shake a bit. America sat down on a chair across from him leather of his jacket making an odd noise against the fabric of the chair.

            “Hey are you cold?” was asked after a few minutes. Alfred leaned forwards a bit a frown on his face. His eyebrows were still dipped down; they were still hovering above concerned filled eyes.

            “Just a bit,” he mumbled quietly. The other stood up once again, soon depositing his jacket over the other’s shoulders and torso.

            “I’m going to go get a doctor. Your cheeks are looking flushed,” America patted the other’s leg. “I’ll be right back. It’s okay if you fall asleep.”

            Arthur nodded pressing his head against the cot as the American left the room. He grinned after the other was gone pressing his nose against the fuzzy collar of the jacket. It smelled like America. The leather was still warm for America.

            Arthur could keep playing the damsel, if this was the result. America was so naïve. But that meant America was still _his_. After all, you never truthfully leave the Empire.

            _Alfred was always going to be his._

* * *

 

            Once they had in fact rescued France, taken Europe and Asia back- after Nazi Germany and Imperialistic Japan fell- Arthur knew he’d need to be more subdued. America wouldn’t know what his true intent was. The others would.

            France already had an inkling.

            “Britain, you know what you are doing is wrong,” he had hissed out once the news of Japan’s surrender had been released.

            “I have not a clue what you are cluing into Frog. Is there a problem?”

            “You know very well that there is. Leave him alone.”

            “We are simply friends, gentleman in arms, if you will. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

            But he _knew_. Arthur couldn’t let that happen. _He_ had planted the ideas of freedom into the boy’s head ever so very long ago- and yet it was not that long at all; not even 200 years of independence. It couldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let America slip through his grasp this time. Oh no, he would be his and only his.

* * *

 

            “There is no reason to make him die. I get that his country did bad shit, fuck, we all have, but there is a better solution!” America ranted slamming a fist down on the wooden table. Everyone in the room quieted down. The man in the middle of the room gulped twisting his hands together in front of himself.

            He was usually so confident and outspoken. He could die. He was going to be sentenced to death. _Forced dissolution._

            “Could I ask what that might be, _Amerika?_ ”

            Alfred glared over at Russia -no- the Soviet piece of shit Union.

            “Mattie, explain it to them,” he growled out sitting down. He didn’t want to get into a fight right now, not with someone’s life at the stake.

            Canada stood up with a frown set on his face. “We are all aware that Germany is being split into four separate districts of government while the largest is on the east side. The east was given to Soviet Russia. The west is governed by America, France, and Britain,” the other began voice ringing out clearly for once. This was his plan. This was the way he could save someone’s life.

            “Because of this, in a sense, there will now be both an East and West Germany. East Germany is going to be governed using Communistic policies while the West will be governed by more Capitalistic policies. There will be two different mind sets of people and government. We have no idea what that is going to do to Germany’s mental state,” Canada paused looking over at the blond.

            His arm was in a cast, bandages covering his face, neck, and more were probably not seen. He was sitting next to Italy, holding the brunet’s hand. He stared in front of himself in complete silence at his brother.

            His brother could die.

            Because of _him._

            “I propose that while, yes, keeping Prussia as a country might not be the best thing to do, we instead reinstate him as a different representative. Instead of bargaining and hoping for nothing to happen to Ludwig, we make it so he is West Germany while Prussia can become the East,” he stopped once again as shouting began to echo throughout the room.

            America stood up once again shouting over the rest of the noise, “Everyone, _shut the **fuck** up!_”

            He pounded his fist on the table once again before a loud cracking noise was heard. Everyone went silent once again. He nodded to Canada sitting back down.

            “Because of this, Gilbert would be able to live in East Germany and represent the East in the Soviet Union. Ludwig wouldn’t have to do both. It would be beneficial for then no one would need to worry about juggling when and where Germany needed to be more,” he nodded once to assure himself. America had since gotten up to take his brother’s place.

            “We can have a vote,” America called out walking over to Prussia, “All those in favor of Prussia becoming East Germany say ‘aye’ all those who aren’t stay silent.”

            Everyone looked around at everyone else. Prussia held his breath.

            “On three. One, two, three-”

            The loud echo of ‘aye’ filled the room coming from many of the Germanic countries, France, Spain, Italy, _Romano,_ and all of the countries under Russia’s rule. Russia had also chimed in with a smile on his face. Many others as well but, it was decided.

            “Let this be official and said in front of the rest of the nations. As of now, Prussia, you are known from now on as East Germany.”

            Gilbert let out a choked noise before hugging the life out of America. Alfred let out a laugh patting the other on the back, “Hey, it’s alright man. You should be thanking Mattie though- he’s the one who thought of it,” but Britain wasn’t listening.

            Alfred was hugging Gilbert- he was showing affection to someone who wasn’t him. He didn’t mind Matthew, they were brothers after all but this- it made his heart be filled with anger. Alfred was his. His and only his.

            France sent him a look.

            He glared right back.

            _America was his._

* * *

 

            He was going to be strong and defend them all. America was going to defend all of them from the Soviet Union. Communism was bad, Arthur agreed, but they got to see him so much more now.

            He was involved in Europe. He was their police officer who patrolled and watched each nation.

            Arthur loved him.

            They would have meetings to decide what they were going to do. They would talk for hours and hours about their nations, and people role, and the fall of the Soviet Union. Gilbert had not been seen since the day after the meeting. Russia had kept all of the countries under his control close.

            Britain’s empire was falling apart.

            He didn’t mind too much. He had America again. The other was close and yet so far. France tried to keep him away. There were meetings Arthur couldn’t attend or wasn’t supposed to attend.

            Soon he’d have America, _soon._

* * *

 

            The Union had been defeated. Battle after battle, wound after wound. America had stuck through it all. He was the only remaining super power.

            Everyone called Arthur ‘England’ now. He stopped caring.

            They were all celebrating, with food and drink. Happiness spread throughout the room. Germany was late. He had gone to get his brother. Russia couldn’t hold him captive anymore.

            “Alright guys! I say we give a toast to the fall of the USSR, and to the dawn of a new era!” America cheered out to the crowd. He wore the same smile he gave Arthur. The same smile he gave Matthew. The one for his allies, the one for when his people landed on the moon, when civil right s had been achieved.

            He raised his glass into the air -sparkling flavored water, he was too young physically to drink- and others soon followed. Before any glasses could clink together however, the door slowly creaked open. Silence swept through the room as Germany walked inside.

            “I hope you all don’t mind, I brought company,” and soon enough Gilbert walked in after him. His arm was in a cast and sling but a smile was on his face.

            “Hey guys, miss me?”

            Laughs soon followed his appearance as France and Spain ran over to their friend giving him a hug. Soon more nations came in through the doors; Hungary, Estonia, Latvia, Ukraine- until the room was filled with hugging instead.

            More glasses were handed out before America raised his glass once more, “And of course, to our friends who can now return home.”

            He looked over to Canada, clinking his glass to his before turning to England. The door creaked open once more, someone stepping in who they were not expecting.

            Russia stood in the door way face full of nervousness. The gleam that was once in his eyes was gone, replaced by acceptance and sadness. The room went silent. Latvia began to shake. No one dared move as Ivan gripped the ends of his scarf tightly.

            “I apologize, I should not have come-” he began but stopped as America moved over to the taller nation. He grabbed another drink on the way over before gently placing it into the other’s hands.

            “Most importantly, a toast to new beginnings. Welcome back Russia.”

            A small clink echoed through the room. America hadn’t called Russia _Russia_ since the very end of World War Two. He had called him a communist. He called him a bastard, a piece of shit; the Soviet Union. Ivan broke into a smile hoping for tears not to fall from his eyes.

            “ _Spasibo._ ”

            Everyone soon went back to talking, America including Russia in conversation as he spoke with Canada. England was trying not to shake in anger. He kept his composure in check, taking a sip from his wine. America was his. _His, his, his, **his-**_

            “He isn’t going to return your feelings, _Angleterre_ , move on. He will always see you as a brother, as a friend. Save yourself from heartbreak,” France whispered to him grabbing onto the other’s shoulder. England stiffened for a moment eyes flicking over to the other with a dangerous air around him.

            “I do apologize, but I have not the slightest clue what you are talking about, France,” was all England hissed out

           France frowned as the other walked away to talk with China, or perhaps it was Japan. America didn’t have eyes for the Brit. He was protective of him, yes; he saw him as one of their best friends. He had eyes for someone else though.

            His eyes shifted over to the American and Russian, the boy laughing at something his brother said while Russia looked at him almost dreamily.

            Oh no, he wouldn’t be getting together with England, that was for sure.

* * *

 

            England sighed, sitting back in the hotel room chair sipping at a cup of tea. The United Nation’s meeting was in a few hours. _Today was the day,_ he told himself.

            He was going to ask America out today. He’d court the other properly, of course, until he was a puddle of goo at his feet. They’d be together again. He’d be England’s again.

            Arthur smirked.

            Alfred will be his again and forever.

* * *

 

            The meeting was over for the day. England was nervous. All throughout the meeting his leg had been bouncing up and down. If anyone had noticed his unease, there wasn’t a comment. He hadn’t felt this nervous in a long time. Not since Churchill had proposed that special relationship.

            A special relationship it was indeed, but; he wanted more. He wanted America all for himself. He wanted to hug, kiss, grope- be his everything. Make him into a writhing mess of blushing and moans underneath him-

            He had to stop himself. Getting a boner in the middle of a meaning was not the best idea. The day had dragged on and on as nation after nation spoke. They all agreed to a six hour conference every six months. They’d rather do this than an hour a month where nothing ever got done.

           Not that anything got done because of this either but- it was the thought that counted.

            He had waited the whole day. He had asked one of the secretaries at the front to hold his flowers for the day. Now, England was ready. America was over here somewhere, he just knew it. He’d ask the other if he wished to ‘ _take their relationship to the next level_ ,’ all while giving him a beautiful bouquet of roses and lilies.

            He’d at least agree to try, right? To be the ‘hero’ and allow Arthur to take him out on a date or insist he take the Brit out. England’s face seemed to brighten as he thought of that aspect. He’d think that he was in control of his and England’s relationship but it would really be the other way around.

            America was his. No matter what France said. He had chosen England when he was a colony -a small boy- he’d chose him again. Arthur was sure of it.

            He could soon hear whispers from around the corner. Two people were talking.

            “-are you sure no one is gonna find us here?”

            “Yes, I am positive. There is no need to worry Alfred,” was the reply back.

            Arthur smiled. He had been right. Now he could ask the other the big question. The two went silent as England took in a small breath rounding the corner. “Alfred I’d like t-” but he stopped.

            Russia stood in front of America, kissing him, on the lips-

            England dropped the flowers. Both other males turned to face him. His legs began to tremble.

            “Oh, Artie, are you okay?”

_He isn’t going to return your feelings, Angleterre, move on._

His heart had stopped in his chest. This wasn’t right. America - _Alfred_ \- was _his_. Was his only and yet this-

            _He will always see you as a brother, as a friend._

            His mouth opened and closed in silence. It had gone dry. Why did this happen? Was he too late? What had Russia done to his sweet, innocent America? He wasn’t supposed to be with Alfred. Arthur was; Arthur and _only_ Arthur-

            “Artie?”

            _Save yourself from heartbreak._

            England turned on his heels and ran. _It was much too late for that._

**_Mirror, mirror on the wall, do you love me after all?_ **

            The scent of alcohol filled the room. The overly cramped too small room was silent other than a faint mumbling of a drunkard. He’d been there for what seemed liked weeks; really it was only two days.

            What had he done wrong?

            Did the other really hate him all that much?

            Weren’t they supposed to be together? _Forever?_

            Perhaps it was a phase? Just like his Revolution had been, that could be it. He could be experimenting, seeing what he likes. Russia could have forced him-

            Arthur knew the truth. He didn’t want to face it. He took another gulp of alcoholic monstrosity. He hadn’t bothered reading the labels after his fifth bottle of what might have been beer, or was it whiskey? It was all too blurred.

            America was supposed to be his. He was his- but he wasn’t. Arthur let out a cry smashing the bottle against the wall. It hit with a loud shattering noise, one that drowned out his sob for only a moment. Tears began to slip down his bright red face.

            “What did I do wrong!?” he sobbed out gripping at his hair.

            He didn’t know the answer.

* * *

 

            He had been missing for a week. No one had any clue what had happened. America didn’t say anything. Neither did Russia. When England missed the EU conference, that’s when Germany put down the line. Someone had to go see if England really was sick or if he was playing hooky.

            France had been the first to raise his hand. He had an inkling, he always did.

* * *

 

            On the eighth day, France had found England in the same room curled up with his legs to his chest in a corner a bottle of ale in his hand. Bottles littered the floor as did a destroyed piece of furniture and multiple ripped books -most of them being Shakespeare, one or two of them even being the original copies themselves.

            France tried not to wince at the smell, clutter, and broken man in the corner.

            “Arthur?” he asked quietly. He took small steps towards the other hands out in front of him.

            The other stirred, if only slightly, to face the other. The bottle dropped with a small ‘clink’ before more tears ran down the man’s face. “W-what did I do wrong?”

            His voice cracked.

            France didn’t know what to say.

            “What did I do wrong Francis?” he choked out before breaking out into sobbing again. “I th-thought that it would be okay b-but it isn’t-” he began to hyperventilate knuckles going white as he gripped his knees.

             France crossed the room in a heartbeat, pulling the other into an embrace. “Shhh, shh,” the Frenchman gently rubbed the other’s back as he came undone sobbing into his shoulder. They were loud and broke with uneven breaths.

            He could only murmur into the other’s ears empty words. England -Arthur- was broken. But something else was there. France had seen the looks. There were looks of love, yes; of adoration, compassion, and kindness.

            There was also possessiveness. One that the Brit had as an Empire, still had, but under wraps as the perfect gentleman he now prided himself to be.

            France didn’t know if this would help the other or bring him further into despair.

* * *

 

            After a shower, shave, and a good meal Arthur remained silent. France sat across from him holding a cup of tea just like the other was. Dark rings were underneath his eyes and his cheeks were still blotched pink in some places.

            “What happened?”

            Arthur remained quiet before taking in a shuttering breath, “I saw America and Russia-” he stopped holding back another sob, “they were kissing,” and then he stopped putting his head in his hands. “What did I do wrong?”

            Francis sighed, it _was_ about that. “You need to move on and accept it _mon ami_ , he will always be your friend you know,” he paused before smiling sadly, “look to new horizons and don’t torture yourself so.”

            Arthur stayed silent after that hands clenching into fists on the table top. His shoulders slumped for a moment; in what France thought was defeat. The other looked up at him sharply face blank.

            “But, he’s _mine_ Francis; don’t you see? He chose me all that time ago and now we are both on equal ground,” Arthur sighed allowing a smile to come to his face, “he’ll come around once I explain to him what I thought happened. Obviously, Russia had to have black mail over him or something.”

            France’s face went pale as the other kept talking. His obsession- it was an obsession not just a want-

            “Arthur, you need to think about what you are saying. Sure you know th-”

            “I do know what I am saying Francis. I am going to have to ask you to leave my house. Get out of my goddamned country,” he hissed out the last part standing up.

            “Arth-”

            “Didn’t you hear me!?” he roared shoving his chair back, “ _Get. **Out**_ **.** ”

            His words and actions were still controlled by alcohol; he wobbled a bit still managing a glare at the older nation. France gulped before nodding. “Alright. I’ll tell Germany you’re sick. Take some time off, get sober, and think this through.”

            With that he was gone almost as if he had never been there other than the leftovers resting in the fridge. England growled and grabbed another bottle popping open the top.

            _To hell with him._

* * *

 

            He got worse before he got ‘better.’

            More things were destroyed; an old suit of armor, half of his pressed flower collection, the shower curtains in the bathroom, and so much more. He stumbled down into his basement at one point tears streaking down his face.

            _I loved you. I love you. Why don’t you love me?_

            His friends floated around his head in concern. He yelled at them to go away, to piss the fuck off because he wasn’t in the mood. He dug through his books in a drunken frenzy; surely there was something here to help him?

            He searched and searched before finding something. He grinned before bookmarking it and them stumbling back upstairs needing to get ingredients. He tripped at the top, went tumbling back down, and slammed into the floor of the basement with a resounding crack as the back of his head hit the floor.

            England saw stars before darkness overtook him. For three days.

* * *

 

            When he awoke his head hurt. His eyes burned. His heart ached. He didn’t remember why he came down here. England sat up with a grumble looking over to the mirror with a grimace. He was a mess.

            His hair was matted to his head, slight stubble -more than a slight one really- was present on his face along with bags under his eyes. They were blood shot. His clothes were revolting. 

            England narrowed his eyes before huffing. He needed to get himself straightened out. So, he picked himself off of the basement floor with a wince carefully walking up the stairs. He was overdue for a shower and a shave.

            He had to _try_ to get better at least.

* * *

 

            Cleaning his home was a bitch. He had vomited, multiple times, onto surfaces that made him question if said stomach content had been launched to the point where it was. He had destroyed things that would never be replaced along with photos of the past.

            He cringed at the bathroom and kitchen, taking nearly three hours to clean both of those rooms alone.

            He finally got down to his basement with a broom and a sandwich nestled in his hands. He began to sweep up the debris and put the books away that he had taken out and left on the floor.  He shoved the sandwich into his mouth picking up the last few when the ribbon bookmark caught his attention.

            He never put them in unless he had current projects.

            Arthur frowned, opening it up chewing up the last bit of his food. He froze. He smiled.

            “So I _can_ have you after all.”

* * *

 

            After weeks of gathering materials and giving status updates to Germany of all people saying ‘yes he was making a recovery’ and ‘no I am not better yet’ it was ready. England dumped a few more things into the cauldron with a smile. His friends weren’t around today like usual. He hadn’t seen them for a couple of days, but that didn’t matter.

            This was going to be his master piece.

            He began to stir humming quietly. This was all going to turn out great. Just dandy even. Arthur added the final ingredient before stepping back as it gave off a blue glow. His breath froze in his body for a moment before he shuttered. Raw power was flowing out of the boiling mixture now.

            He _had_ to get this right.

            England took in a deep breath grabbing his book. It was now or never.

            “Mirror, mirror on the wall, do you hear me call? I say these words to only you; there is something I need for you to do. My desire burns and spreads every day, yet the thing I want cannot stay. I ask you this, with my heart true; please be there for me and I’ll be there for you.”

            Light filled the room, the mirror he had set up glowing bright. The magic poured into it. Everything stilled. Arthur was blown back.

            He hit the wall with a dull thud.

            England sat there for a few moments until his surprise had past. He stood up on wobbly legs making his way over to the mirror. He pressed a hand against it in hope. Nothing happened.

            His hand dropped into his lap allowing his head to drop. He’d always be alone, wouldn’t he? Arthur sat there for a few moments before he tried to get up. He stopped when he felt a hand on his cheek. He looked down to see a shimmering light, as if it wasn’t there.

            He looked into the mirror before letting out a shaky laugh grabbing the hand with his own.

            “No need to be upset Arthur, I’m here.”

            Arthur looked into sky blue eyes, happiness making its way through his bones. He shuttered.  Alfred. Alfred was _here_. He was smiling and rubbing a thumb over his cheek. He was looking at Arthur with all of the love and adoration Arthur shared for him-

            He was _his_. Now and forever.

**_Mirror, mirror can’t you see, that we were always meant to be?_ **

            Alfred stayed in the mirror most of the time. He was able to hold Arthur’s hand and stroke his face like he did before. He did it all the time, just like the book said he would. Arthur was glad, for the other was in love with him. He’d never be able to leave.

            He couldn’t help but feel uneasy though. Alfred made him tea one morning. Actual tea, using his kettle and everything. He was pretty sure America didn’t even own a kettle let alone how to use it.

            Alfred would make Arthur’s bed if he forgot to, or pick up the empty teacup in his office he forgot to put into the sink. He’d do the dishes. He’d sweep. He’d turn off lights that had been left on.

            It was nothing like America, but it was Alfred. Happy-go-lucky Alfred with bright blue eyes behind glasses with a smile equally as reflective. He’d talk with Arthur all times throughout the day as the man was still on ‘sick leave.’

            It still didn’t quell the uneasiness. It seemed to perfect, too nice, for this to work. And yet, Alfred was there to give him a kiss on the cheek or to say ‘how are you?’

            “Alfred, can I ask you something?”

            The reflection turned to look at the other a quizzical look on his face. “Of course, whats’a matter?”

            Arthur gripped the edge of his book, hoping this wouldn’t come out badly, “Are you really Alfred?”

            “Of course!”

            Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed together, for it didn’t seem right. It’s not as if America was missing and trapped inside the mirror. Was it a lie then? Could it be the truth?

            “There’s just a bit of a difference, you see,” the other continued after a moment, eyes filling with happiness a bright smile soon followed afterwards, “I’m your Alfred, not anyone else’s”

            England’s heart thundered in his chest. A tingly feeling spread throughout his whole body. He didn’t realize just how much he needed to hear that. Alfred, it was his Alfred. How could he have been so dumb?

            His book dropped to the ground as a kiss on the lips was felt his eyes fluttering closed, missing a predatory look that sparked in his love’s eyes and disappeared just as quickly.

* * *

 

            Arthur bounced back soon enough. He bought mirrors, many, many mirrors to put up in his house. They were in every room, everywhere, so he could always see and talk with Alfred. Alfred.

            A ray of sunshine in his gloomy days. He’d talk and smile with the other every day, be there to tell him good night and good morning. Sometimes he’d make Arthur a cup of tea. He’d compliment the other like crazy, hoping to see emerald eyes light up in happiness.

            He’d hug and kiss the other when he got a chance.

            England, sadly, had other things to do too, like return to G-8 Meetings.

            “I’ll be here when you get back, I promise,” Alfred had assured the other with a bright smile. All of his love was for Arthur. England smiled back.

            “I will see you soon.”

* * *

 

            England walked into the G-8 Meeting in stride, already prepared to sniffle and take out a tissue here and there. He _had_ just got over being sick. It was only natural.

            “Arthur, you’re..?”

            England looked over to France as Germany set up the front of the room. The meeting was going to start soon.

            “I am alright. I took your advice France. I apologize for snapping at you.”

            Alfred and Matthew looked over along with Russia, Japan, and Germany. Francis was taken aback for a moment his mouth opening once. “You’re apologizing to _moi?_ ”

            “Yes, why is that so bloody hard to believe?”

            No one made a comment, instead choosing for the meeting to begin.

* * *

 

            At lunch, England was eating a sandwich and drinking tea. Alfred had brewed the tea that morning for him, and it was simply perfect. He stopped sipping opening his eyes once a voice cleared itself in front of him. It was America.

            “Hey, uhh, I just wanted to ask if you were okay? ‘Cause last time you ran away from Vanya and me so…” he trailed off rubbing the back of his neck.

            _It wasn’t his Alfred_

            “No, no it is perfectly alright America. I was feeling sick and I thought I was going to vomit so I ran. Sorry for not telling you anything,” he explained setting his thermos down. The other let out a breath of relief before laughing.

            “Okay, yeah, ‘cause you left the flowers and junk behind and I thought…” the other stopped again shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah.”

            “Oh no, simply ones France gave me as a joke of some sort. There is no need to worry.”

            _A joke it’s all a joke. You don’t really love **me.**_

            “So you don’t mind that Russia and I are dating?” he asked his voice quiet and fragile. England looked up at him before snorting. America looked taken aback.

_I care! I care! You’re mine. You’re supposed to be mine and only **mine-**_

            “No, I do not but,” he paused looking America dead in the eyes, “if he does anything to hurt you, and I mean _anything_ , I will take his faucet pipe and shove it so far down his throat it will come out of his arse, largest nation in the world be damned. Understood?”

            America froze before he began to laugh grabbing his gut in mirth. “Oh my god- I got’cha Artie. Holy crap,” he kept going but Arthur already drowned him out.

            _He really doesn’t care for me at all, huh?_

No tears spilt, he just kept staring.

* * *

 

            When he got home from Germany, England was wiped out. Wiped out and sad. He didn’t want to see them ever again. They were all happy and ignorant of his misery; of what was going on. His friends had disappeared, the other nations just didn’t understand-

            He sucked in a breath when he heard humming from the kitchen. His shoes were already taken off. He quickly walked into the homey room seeing glowing hands making tea and biscuits just for him.

            “Alfred?”

            There was a happy gasp from inside the mirror as Alfred’s face came into view. He was wearing a sweater and boxers glasses slightly askew, “You’re home! I am almost done, so we can sit down and chat okay?”

          Arthur nodded rubbing a hand across his eyes sitting down quietly. “Thank you love.”

            “Of course Arthur! I love you,” was heard before he felt a kiss being placed on his forehead despite no one being there.

            “And I, you.”

* * *

 

            That night he broke down into a sobbing fit. He smashed at his pillows and kicked at his mattress tears streaming out of his eyes. Why, why, _why!?_ Wasn’t he good enough? How could the other not even _care?_

            “Arthur?” his eyes snapped over to the mirror at his bedside. Concerned blue eyes looked back at him, glasses not present sleep evident from his hair and baby blue pajama bottoms. “Are you okay?”

            Arthur shook his head letting out a sniffle.

            “It’s okay, I’m here now,” he was soon enveloped in warm arms a nose nuzzling up against his hair. Arthur let out a shaky sigh as kisses were peppered on the top of his head. Alfred hummed quietly. Arthur could feel the vibrations, the soft tune making him sleepy.

            “I’ll be here forever, okay? When you wake up I’ll make you breakfast and we can just relax,” his words were quiet and gentle. Arthur’s eyes fluttered a few times before he succumbed to sleep.

            Alfred smiled down at the man, a glint slowly making its way into his eyes. He was getting stronger. Arthur was becoming more infatuated. He’d be his soon enough.

            His Arthur, his beautiful, sweet Arthur; he shouldn’t cry. Alfred would make sure of it.

* * *

 

            The room was silent. The only thing that broke it was the faint scratch of pen on paper. Arthur had fallen behind on his paperwork during his absence. A normal load of work could be considered grueling, this was just plain torturous. He had been reading, signing, and revising things for a good five hours now. He had a meeting next Monday with his Prime Minister who expected these to be done.

            Arthur was going to finish today so he could relax over the weekend.

            After awhile he stopped, however; he could have sworn he smelt something sweet. The door creaked open a few moments later almost as if to answer the question with a ‘yes, there is something sweet.’

            A tray floated inwards towards the desk, a steaming cup of tea and cinnamon scones rested on top of it. It rested on his desk, on top of his paper work, with a small metal on wood ‘click’ noise.

            Arthur looked over towards the mirror on his desk seeing a beaming Alfred appear not a few seconds later.

            “You’ve been up here for a while and missed lunch, so I figured I’d deliver you some food,” he relayed the information. A hand soon picked up one of the scones holding it up to Arthur’s mouth.

            “Alfred, I still have work-”

            “You know you want to Arthur,” he interrupted the other, making the vowels longer his voice dropping down. The Brit snorted grabbing the scone out of the air quickly setting it back down on the tray. He then moved the tray over to the left so he could see his papers again.

            “I will finish this section, and then I will eat.”

            Alfred pouted as the other went back to work leaning against his hands, his cheeks smooshing upwards towards his eyes. A few more moments of pen scratching away a smile overtook his face, one filled with playful intent.

            “I dunno Arthur, my words and actions can be pretty persuasive.”

            England felt a hand run up his spine ever so very lightly before disappearing once again, causing him to shiver in its wake. He sent a half-hearted glare in the other’s direction.

            “Alfred.”

            “Yes, sweetie?” it was in an ‘I-am-so-innocent-what-are-you-talking-about’ voice. A hand brushed against Arthur’s side causing him to jump and stifle a small squeak.

            “Alfred, I swear to god-” he began before the last word turned into a _loud_ squeak as a hand pinched his side. A borage of squeaks and giggles flowed from the Brit’s mouth as Alfred poked and prodded him, his own quiet laughter mixing in with England’s

            “Submit or squeak, cutely, for the rest of your immortal life,” Alfred mock threatened soon wiggling some of his fingers over Arthur’s stomach. He let out a high pitched _squeal_ lurching forwards.

            “Okay, okay! I will eat the damn scone, just stop you blundering dolt!” he cried out finally jamming one of the pastries into his mouth with more than enough amount of force. Alfred ‘haa-haa!’ed in triumph kissing the other’s forehead.

            “Not so bad when you give in is it grumpy butt?”

            Arthur turned away chewing quietly on his food, hoping for the blush threatening to enter his face to go away. No way would he give the little bugger that satisfaction. Alfred sighed happily instead of continuing to ask, resting his chin on top of the other’s head.

            Arthur had noticed how Alfred could now use more limbs than he could in the beginning. Before it was only lips on his cheek or forehead and the occasional hand holding his own. Now he was pulled into hugs against invisible chests from behind. His head could be cradled in both hands as kisses were placed all over his face.

            “I just don’t want you to tire yourself out, okay?” Alfred murmured at last, voice filled with concern. “I don’t want you getting hurt Arthur.”

            His cheeks finally did take a pink tint at those words. A warm feeling spread through his chest. Alfred _cared_ for him. Alfred didn’t want him to be hurt.

            Alfred knew the other was more compliant, just like he’d hoped Arthur would be

* * *

 

            Norway stopped talking for a moment, his body going still. Iceland and Denmark looked over at him as his plate fell from his hands and smashed onto the ground, the remainder of the food going with it.

            _Something is wrong_ , his mind echoed. He was looks of astonishment and fear cross the other’s faces. _The connection is gone_ , his head hit the floor

            _England, you idiot._

            “Oh my god, Sweden, Finland, get in here!” Denmark jumped up hollering out to the two in the kitchen. He grabbed Norway by his front shaking him a bit, “Norge?”

            The other two came running in their eyes widening once they saw their friend was collapsed onto the floor. Finland ran over to get the first aid kit while Sweden helped move Norway to the couch. His vitals were soon being checked over, Iceland looking on in worried silence.

            “What happened to ‘im?” Sweden asked finally looking over at the worrying Denmark.

            “Nothing happened! He was bothering Iceland about calling him big brother again and he just fell to the floor,” the other explained looking worried.

            “He doesn’t seem to be waking up, should we call the other nations and have an emergency meeting?” Finland asked standing up once again from crouching down on the floor.

            “We cannot just leave him here. Not when we do not know what is going on,” Iceland answered back a frown set on his face. They all nodded before calls were made. Something was going on, and it couldn’t be good.

* * *

 

            Romania laughed as Hungary let out a growl. They had been in a verbal fight for the past half hour with Prussia texting on his phone nearby. This had supposed to have been a diplomatic meeting, but once it was officially over, the true games began.

            “Take that back, _now_ ,” Hungary jabbed the shorter man in the chest fire burning in her eyes.

            “No.”

            “What do you mean no?!” she thundered out Gilbert stifling a snort behind her. Romania would have laughed at her expression, but something felt wrong. His vision fuzzed over for a second. Then he felt it heads on.

            _England, something is wrong with Arthur._

            His eyes rolled into the back of his head, magic, the connection between the three was broken. Involuntarily. Someone had made England disconnect from it, without him even knowing or noticing probably. He was in mortal danger.

            Romania didn’t think anymore as darkness overtook his vision, his brain finally shutting down. China would know what to do- Hungary and Gilbert were screaming.

            _Fuck._

* * *

 

            Canada sat at a café with both America and France sitting diagonally across from him. Alfred was sighing into his coffee like a lovesick school girl while France looked at both of his ‘sons’ with gleam in his eyes as he stirred his coffee. Canada looked down at his plate to see maple syrup pooling around the stack of his pancakes.

            They had gone out for breakfast, but they still hadn’t talked. The seat to France’s right was still empty. England still hadn’t shown up.

            “He said he’d be able to make it, right, Francis?” Canada asked snapping the other two out of their states of mind. France frowned then nodded.

            “ _Oui_ , he said that he would meet us here so we could all go around London before the meeting on Friday.”

            Friday being three days away, it would have been a fun time to be able to see England’s capitol again. It was a bit of a tradition for the small family, when a meeting was in one of the other’s places they’d show the other three around. They’d done it countless of times over the years now. It was nice.

            Arthur was going to be the first one to break this pattern in a long time, since 9/11 when America couldn’t show them New York, or Washington D.C.

            “D’you think he forgot?” Alfred spoke up before taking a gulp of his coffee. It was black. France had to hold back a grimace.

            “He doesn’t just forget something like this,” France replied taking a bite from one of his pastries. They went back to silence after that until their food and drink were finished.

            They split the bill and got up. “I suppose we can go to his house and meet up with him there,” France grinned, “Maybe we can even play a little prank on our dear Arthur.”

            They began to walk away, Canada stopping once he saw Kuma wasn’t behind him. “One second guys, I think Kuma fell asleep,” Canada crouched down to look underneath the table. His bear was unmoving, yep, asleep. Or…

            “All that bear ever does is sleep Mattie, I swear to god someday-”

            “Kuma isn’t breathing!” Matthew sobbed out grabbing the bear from underneath the table. He went white after feeling the fur. It wasn’t fur anymore. “Oh god…”

            France and America had already rushed over only to see not Kumajiro alive or even dead- it was a stuffed animal. Just like he was back before England had enchanted him when they were colonies.

            “What- how- how can this be?” America stuttered out as Canada stood back up shaking his polar bear gently. He wasn’t alive anymore. He was gone.

            America’s phone went off.

            “Alfred Jones speaking,” was the instant reply once it had been answered. Canada looked up when he heard yelling on the other end of the line as did France. “Woah, woah wait- who collapsed?” Alfred frowned as more chatter came in, “What happened to them? What do you mean you don’t know?” Another pause America’s eyes filling with unease, “No, he isn’t with us. He didn’t show,” silence then more talking. “Yeah we’ll be there. Got it.”

            The other two nations looked uneasy once the phone call had ended.

            “Al, what’s going on?”

            “Romania and Norway collapsed randomly at the same time today,” he told the others tapping away on his phone quickly, “both at nine seventeen on the dot.”

            “I looked down and saw Kuma like this a few minutes after that, you don’t think…”

            “They were murmuring England in their sleep,” America looked up at the other two, and then they saw it. _Fear._ “Something is going on here, something very, very bad.”

* * *

 

            England was huddled underneath his blanket his work for the day finally being finished half an hour prior. Alfred was humming on the other side of the mirror doing hell knows what as another book page was turned. He was reading one of his copies of Harry Potter for one of the uncountable times in a row.

            It was nice and homey. Something felt a bit off, but was it perhaps Alfred just wasn’t conversing? Yes, that had to be it.

            “Hey, Arthur, could we talk about something?”

            England looked up from his book placing a book mark in before setting it aside. “Yes, of course. Is there something you need?”

            “I wanted to ask, umm,” Alfred appeared sitting on the bed in front of him, as a full body this time, only semi tangible, “you love me right?”

            Arthur nodded with a smile, “But of course I do Alfred. What brings this up?”

            “It’s just that,” he looked around the room nervously gripping the bed sheets tightly, “we talk and stuff. And I am so happy with us hugging and kissing but we don’t, you know…”

            Arthur’s eyebrows shot up his forehead watching as the other’s face started to go pink, then red in some places. He stayed silent, perhaps for a moment too long.

            “Look, ‘m sorry for asking. I’ve only been around for two months and-” but Arthur let out a quiet laugh, covering up his mouth with his hand.

            “That is not why I paused Alfred. If that is something you would like to do, we can anytime, alright?”

            “Really?” the other’s eyes lit up locking onto Arthur’s eyes with all of the happiness in the world.

            “You idiot, yes really. Sorry if it did not seem like that before. I had not realized I came off as-” but soft lips pressed against his own stopping him from speaking in doing so. Arthur’s eye fluttered shut soon afterwards as his face was cradled in warm hands that felt so _real-_

            “Good. I love you,” the words were punctuated with kisses on Arthur’s cheeks and lips, the smaller man being pulled into Alfred’s lap.

            “I love you too,” his breath hitched as the other began to nibble on his jaw line, kissing down under it over his Adam’s apple to the other side with swipes of his tongue mixed in. It felt perfect, every action filled with love-

            Their night clothes were lost, chucked over the side of the bed as Alfred kissed down the others chest, soon pushing back on the other’s shoulders causing him to splay out on the bed, legs still wrapped around the other’s torso.  He tweaked a nipple, a high pitched moan sounded out for a moment- soon his pants were trying to be removed. The book fell to the floor with a thud. Hands tangled in Alfred’s hair as he kissed the others pelvis, slowly dragging down the loose pajama bottoms.

            He looked back up at the other, fingers splayed on Arthur’s hips, “Are you sure about this?”

            Arthur nodded grabbing the others face and kissing him, gently but firmly. “I am absolutely sure,” he added tongue panting soon filling the room before his legs were untangled from around the other’s torso, ass no longer resting over the other’s crotch, “please, _Alfred._ ”

            England -no Arthur- had never felt so loved in his entire life.

* * *

 

            Much, much later the next morning, when both Alfred and Arthur were tangled together in his bed sheets, love bites and hickies littering both of their skins, Arthur was asleep while Alfred was not. The Brit was splayed on Alfred’s body, half on half off, using the larger’s chest as a pillow. He had this glow about him, one of relaxation and happiness.

            Alfred was happy too. He had chosen Alfred over everyone else, said yes, even if he hadn’t realized what he had been agreeing to. They had a bond now; one Alfred could feel flowing slowly but surely through his veins-

            Arthur stirred eyes blinking open slowly.

            “Alf’?” he mumbled out with a yawn.

            “Mhmm,” he whispered back placing a kiss on Arthur’s forehead, “It’s still early, go back to sleep.”

            Arthur nodded. Soon his breaths evened back out ear pressed over where Alfred’s heart beat was. He could have sworn he had something to do today, but no matter. Alfred was here.  

Alfred continued to smile carding a hand through the other’s hair. His other connections were all breaking now, all of his ministrations on this world. Soon, they’d be together forever.

            _Soon._

**_Mirror, mirror please let me in, then I will never have to see them again._ **

            “Quiet down, quiet down! We need to solve this problem and fast!” America hollered slamming his fist down on the table a few times. Nations were still pouring into the room, many looking confused, scared, or distraught once they saw Norway and Romania hooked up into IV’s, both unmoving on two gurneys.

            Soon the room began to quiet as nations took their seats. America looked around only to frown, “Where’s China and Hong Kong?”

            “We are here America. You are going to want to see this,” the door opened revealing China and a silent Hong Kong behind him. Yao motioned for the younger to walk in front of him. He had his hands over his forehead, rubbing it as though he had a headache.

            “See what?”

            Hong Kong dropped his hands to reveal… nothing. It was totally normal. There was no wound or bruising, only two slender eyebrows that were furrowed together-

            “Oh my god,” was the only thing he could say. The thick Kirkland eyebrows were gone, they were normal now. Nations started to look around at the other’s who were supposed to have them, and sure enough, the eyebrows were normal “How?”

            “I am not sure quite yet, but, I have an idea. If you would allow me to speak?”

            America nodded to the older nation before sitting down. China took the podium lips tightening into a thin line. “I have an idea about what this could be, however, I need full cooperation in order to figure out if that is the truth. Understood?” The nations stayed quiet.

            They all had to be in this together.

            “Good. Now, who was with Norway when he collapsed?” The Nordics raised their hands, looks of varying worry on their faces. “What happened?”

            “He was just talking to Iceland while Sweden and Finland were in the kitchen making some snacks. I was on the couch across from Iceland and Norway was in between us. He stopped talking, his plate with his toast fell to the floor, then he collapsed,” Denmark told the others his fists clenching together.

            “Sweden and I came out from the kitchen because of Denmark’s frantic yelling. I checked Norway’s vitals. His heart rate had decreased, his body seemed to be shutting down,” Finland finished, tear tracks still present on his eyes, “Then- then he began saying England over and over again.”

            “He also said ‘idiot’ and ‘broken’ a few times too,” Iceland added in. The nations in the room began to murmur back and forth eyes directed towards England’s empty seat.

            “Alright,” China let out a breath hands fidgeting at his sides, “Hungary, Gilbert; what happened with you two and Romania?”

            “We were just having a petty fight really when his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed,” Hungary told the other. Gilbert nodded with a frown.

            “Yeah, then he started mumbling England under his breath too. Along with ‘lost’ and ‘need help.’”

            China nodded walking over to the two collapsed nations in question carefully looking them over. He remained silence, the room becoming tension filled. The old nation let out a hum before turning around once again.

            “Who here has scars given to them by England?”

            The nations looked around the room at everyone else, unease filling them at the sudden change of subject. Spain raised his hand first, as did France, most of England’s previous colonies, Germany, and a few others. America did too, as did Canada. China let out a breath turning to Spain first. “Where is it, and how did you get it?”

            “It is on my front and my back, stabbed clean through me during our pirating days,” he told the other confusion on his face.

            “Show us.” The Spaniard look startled for a moment at the other’s forwardness before unbuttoning his shirt soon taking it off to show his scar, or, where his scar was supposed to be.

            “W-what? But it was there this morning,” Antonio twisted around trying to see his back as China moved on.

            “France, where did you get yours?”

            “My left shoulder blade, got stuck with an arrow and a bullet, both close to one another,” he answered back already shifting his shirt over, sure enough, they were both gone too. Nations began shifting; trying to find their scars the brat had given them. They were all gone, every single one of them.

            “America, where is yours?” Alfred looked up into China’s eyes frowning a bit.

            “Over my heart, both of them. A burn mark and a scar,” he only gently pushed a hand inside an open button, face paling. He nodded, “They’re gone.”

            “Has anything else strange happened?”

            “Kuma turned back into a stuffed animal,” Canada spoke up, lifting the bear into the air. Sure enough, it looked like a child’s toy. “He was fine this morning but… but then….” Matthew stopped speaking, his whole body seeming to slow down. His eyes fluttered before he collapsed.

            “Matthew!” America and Russia rushed forward, Russia being closer catching the falling blond before he hit the ground. It was his boyfriend’s brother, and Canada was a friend. “Mattie? Mattie, oh my god.”

            Silence sustained itself in the room as Canada was lifted up by the polar nation, soon walking back over to the middle of the room only to stop when the other shifted, eyes opening slowly.

            “Comrade Canada, are you alright?”

            The other blinked, eyes looking confused, “ _Quoi? Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit?_ ” he began before his eyes widened. He screamed out ‘Russia’ in French before trying to get away from the taller man, no English coming from his mouth. China had gone stark white as well. Something was seriously wrong.

            Something beyond all of them. Something he had seen before.

* * *

 

            England yawned quietly, soon sitting up in his bed. The sheet and blanket pooled around his torso. He was alone currently, the sun was high in the sky and everything was rather quiet. A small smile got to his face was he heard quiet noises down in the kitchen. Someone was cooking a late breakfast.

            _Alfred_ was cooking a late breakfast.

            England rolled out of bed a moment later shivering at how cold the air seemed to be. He quickly slipped on boxers and an undershirt. He grabbed one of the quilts at the foot of the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders before shuffling downstairs. Today was going to be a good day, he could feel it.

            As the Brit got closer to the kitchen he could smell tea and hear the sizzling of something being cooked in a pan. The kitchen was filled with humming and Alfred cooking in loose pajama bottoms. He looked over his shoulder with a breath taking smile shooting Arthur a kiss with a laugh.

            “Good morning to you too Alfred. You seem rather happy this morning,” he replied back with a roll of his eyes. Alfred was a helpless romantic apparently.

            “Happy, I’m not happy, I’m _overjoyed_ , tickled pink, absolutely thrilled” he replied back handing a mug full of tea to the smaller man soon folding over some eggs in a pan, dumping the bacon out onto a plate with a paper towel underneath.

            Arthur took a sip of the tea, “I can tell Alfred. Thank you for the breakfast.”

            “Of course, anything for you Arthur!”

            They were soon sitting down for breakfast Alfred planting little kisses on the other’s cheeks every chance he got. The mirrors in the room glowed a faint blue. Alfred was completely solid now, as if he was a human being, and took advantage of it.

            He had cooked breakfast, he held Arthur every chance he got, kissed him every chance he got, tried _to remove his clothes every chance he got-_

            “Let’s take a shower together,” he spoke as the Brit was brushing his teeth. Arthur choked on his toothpaste, spitting it out into the sink with a few more coughs. He looked over at the other seeing a tinge of worry on his face, but his eyes; they were filled with love and playfulness. It was something Arthur hadn’t seen directed at him since- since he and- since… since when?

            There had been a time, a boy, who had smile at him like that. But when?

            “Arthur are you okay?”

            His mind snapped back to the present, Alfred was cradling one of his cheeks in his hands concern written clear as day on his face, “You zoned out for a second there. If you don’t want to you don’t need to.”

            “No, no, it is not that. I just feel like I am not remembering something correctly is all,” he told the other a frown set on his face.

            “It probably isn’t all that important if you can’t remember it, right?” Alfred smiled at him again rubbing their noses together, “Besides, if it was, you’ll remember it again eventually.”

            “Yes, you are right. I need to stop worrying so much.”

            Alfred patted his shoulder in recurrence before his eyes lit up again, “So, about that shower.”

* * *

 

            Once Canada had been restrained and it had been explained to him what had happened, he looked stumped. He said that he remembers learning English, not the details but the fact he did, but he cannot speak it. No matter what he does.

           “It’s getting much worse than I thought,” China whispered out pacing back and forth.

            “China, what’s going on?” America finally asked. Everyone in the room seemed to go quiet after this question, all eyes going to China.

            “I’ve only seen it happen once, and not to this extent. Many of you have seen the aftermath of it, you just didn’t know that at the time,” he looked around at everyone before stopping on Romano and Italy. “Did either of you see your grandfather before he died?”

            “What? What does that have anything to do with this situation-” but Romano was interrupted by China’s glare.

            “Did either of you see him before then?”

            “No,” Italy mumbled, “We did not see him before the fall of Rome. He stayed away from us when he was dying.”

            “I thought as much. This is going to be a lot harder to explain,” Yao let out a breath before he nodded, almost to himself, before beginning to speak once again.

            “Rome had become infatuated.”

            “Infatuated?” the nations began to murmur once again.

            “Yes, infatuated,” his face went hard, “Infatuated with a being that resides in a mirror.”

* * *

 

            Alfred helped dry the others hair, leaning down to nibble on his ears gently when the Brit least expecting it, causing the blond to be swatted at with a shout. They both got dressed, Arthur in his room and Alfred on the other side of the mirror. Alfred hadn’t come back out when Arthur realized he left the quilt in the kitchen.

            “I’ll be right back,” he called out before making his way back downstairs. He found the leftovers of their breakfast together, plates and mugs in the sink and both chairs still pushed out. England pushed them back in before grabbing the quilt off of his. He was about to walk back upstairs when he stopped.

            There was an empty table in the hallway, it was small and empty. He had thought there were pictures on it, or at least one? There had been a picture of him on it, or maybe a portrait, and, and a work colleague maybe? They- they always made him angry, but they were still friends- and?

            Why couldn’t he remember? Why did it seem like that wasn’t necessarily true either?

            “Arthur?”

            He whipped around to see Alfred standing there again, in a sweater and sweatpants get up. It was perfect for a day inside. Because it was raining today, right?

            “Are you okay? You’ve been staring at that table for a little while.”

            “Was there not a picture there?” he asked the other pointing to the table. Alfred looked puzzled for a moment before snapping his fingers.

            “Yes there was! But remember, you said you wanted it changed. I went to grab a new picture to put in it but, I forget to set it out. Thanks for reminding me babe,” he walked over, kissing the other’s cheek again before bolting upstairs. Arthur remained unmoving.

            Had he said that? Alfred said he did, so he must have.

            “Aha! Here it is!” there was a crash before he came running back down a picture frame in his grasp. He slid to a halt in front of the tiny table before setting the frame down. Arthur looked to see what it was, and sure enough, it was him sitting in his armchair reading. A fire was roaring in the background and everything seemed so peaceful.

           “There we go, good as new!” Alfred cheered wrapping an arm around Arthur’s waist. It still didn’t feel right. The picture that had been there before, it was important somehow. It had been old and held memories of- of something.

_No bloody way am I getting a portrait taken with you, of all people, frog! I can barely stand you as it is, let alone standing still for five hours-_

_Oh Angleterre, stop kidding yourself, you obviously are simply dying to do this-_

_Fuck off you idiotic piece of sludge!_

_You are so mean!_

            Arthur shook his head trying to clear it. It didn’t seem right for him to remember something like that either. But he knew that man didn’t he? Since he was little, but when was then?

            “Arthur?” he was called back to the present by Alfred, his head snapping towards his voice. “I was just asking if you wanted to sit down and maybe play a game of chess?”

            “N-no, I do not think I am up for that right now Alfred. My head hurts. I think I will just lie down for a while,” he told the other beginning to go for the stairs. He was lifted up from behind, much to his own horror, as Alfred carried him up the stairs while cradling him in his arms.

            “I can still walk you know.”

            “No can do! I have got to make sure you are safe and well cared for so,” he paused laying the other down in bed before crawling up behind him. “I’m gonna stay here and nap with you.” He curled up, tangling their legs together and wrapping his arms around Arthur’s torso, “Nothin’ you can say to me to make me stop.”

            Arthur huffed pressing his face against his pillow, “Yes, yes, of course. You and your hero complex-” but that made his head hurt even more. Hero complex? Alfred hadn’t acted like that had he? But he remembers it.

            Back during World War Two especially but wait- World War Two. What, what was that again? Was it important or not at all? Why couldn’t he remember?

            _It probably isn’t all that important if you can’t remember it, right?_ Alfred’s words echoed in his brain. Yes, that must be it. He’d ask Alfred when he woke up. Perhaps it was a movie they had watched a while ago that he just couldn’t place.

Behind him, as he fell asleep, Alfred was grinning ear to ear. The other was starting to forget. Soon, soon he could take him home. Soon they would be together. Forever.

* * *

 

            “Yes, he became infatuated with a spiritual being. It is one that you summon yourself,” China began folding his fingers together in front of him.

            “Grandpa Rome was into summoning spirits!?” Italy cried out holding his face in his hands. Germany sighed, trying to get the other to quiet down so China could continue.

            “This thing, it takes form of something you most desire, but not just anything; it is a person. This fake version of the one you want is, in essence, perfect beyond your wildest dreams. They wear what you find appealing, cook and clean, make it so it seems their whole world revolves around you when really it is the other way around,” his face went dark once again.

            “The other way around?”

            He looked over to Japan; the nation seemed a bit confused.

            “Yes, the other way around. This being slowly brainwashes you. Over time you end up becoming attached to it, both physically and emotionally. By this point they usually test the waters by doing things that might generally annoy you, such as a certain way of speaking or a mannerism. You begin to let it slide completely, and that is when you begin to become compliant towards the being,” he looked around at everyone else, seeing looks of horror and fear.

            “How does this pertain to Rome?” Germany finally spoke up looking rather uncomfortable as Italy hid his face against the man’s shoulder.

            “As I said, Rome fell under this curse. He wanted someone he could not have, s he made it so they were always with him. It continued on for a long time, considering Rome had a lot of things to do, especially when his Empire got split in half,” China let out a breath, “but even so; it was his own fault it got split in half in the first place. You see this being after it knows you are in its grasp it begins the second step. One that Europe felt the rebuttal of because it was cut short.”

            “You mean he actually died before this thing could make way with him?”

            “If that had not been the case, he would not have died; he just would have completely disappeared. And while we say he ‘disappeared’ we’ve all seen him in spirit at least once.”

            The room was once again filled with talking as China looked over everyone once again. They wouldn’t like the next part, he was sure of it.

            “While the second part was enactment, Germania saw the weakness of Rome, so he killed him,” China’s voice got loud enough so everyone could hear. The room went silent once again.

            “What weakness? While yes, his Empire was falling apart, Germania was only a bunch of tribes at the time.”

            “By weakness I mean, the second part of the curse, if you want to call it that,” China stopped once again begging that this wouldn’t get out of hand, “The second part is memory loss.”

* * *

 

            Arthur watched as Alfred made them lunch. He wore one of the many aprons given to him as mock gifts at some point in time. A bird and silver hair flashed into mind but, then again, who would have hair like that?

            “A wrap and fruit salad for his majesty,” rang out through the air as plates were put in front of him. A kiss was placed on his cheek and he just smiled down at his food. We went to grab his fork in order to eat the salad first. He froze, staring at the piece of silverware.

            What did a fork do again?

            “Hey, you okay?” he looked up from his dilemma his hand sliding over the table top till it landed in his lap. The fork hit the floor with a clang. He was looking at Alfred in confusion not knowing what to do.

            “Hey, hey, it’s alright. No need to cry,” he told the other pulling him into a loose hug. He soon felt water slipping down his face. He was crying, but why would he be crying? Alfred was here, there was no reason to be sad.

            “I do not know why I am,” he whispered out pressing his face against the top of the other’s shoulder. Alfred helped him sit down before pulling his chair closer to the other. He grabbed his own fork, ignoring Arthur’s on the floor. He stuck it into the bowl grabbing a slice of strawberry then held it up to Arthur’s lips.

            “It’s totally okay, I’ve got you,” Alfred smiled wider once again causing Arthur to smile too, “Open up.”

            He was fed the fruit slowly, much like a small child, but it didn’t register to Arthur. Alfred was helping him just like he always did. Soon it was all gone, only the wrap remaining. His picked it up and took a bite out of it himself. Alfred got back up ruffling Arthur’s hair quickly soon dancing back over to his own seat.

            They ate in silence, Arthur’s mind still reeling from everything going on. He tried to remember how it was before Alfred, what had happened before then. There had been pain in his heart and head. A man with long hair, he spoke funny. He had phone calls with- with the Queen!

            After he soon met Alfred he had been talking to someone he called the Queen.

            They had not spoken in a long while though, or at least he felt that way. “Alfred,” he began head starting to hurt already, “Who’s the Queen?”

           Alfred looked up at the other with a thoughtful expression before shrugging, “Dunno, never mentioned her to me. Why d’you ask?”

            “I was on the phone with her a long, long time ago I believe. Come to think of it, I haven’t been getting any phone calls from anyone lately,” Arthur bit his lip in confusion. He had people who would talk to him over the phone right? There was a quiet fellow with a bear, and, and that bloody Yank, and the Frog who would call him at all hours of the day just to annoy him-

            France.

            France and he had gotten that portrait that had been out in the hallway years and years ago. Where had Alfred put it? He opened his mouth, now getting angry, but his head- it hurt. It hurt _so much._

            His vision fuzzed as he tried to stand up. France, France- they were enemies, he had tried to help him because America would never love him _oh **no-**_

             His head slammed into the floor and all he could hear was Alfred calling out to him- why though? Didn’t- didn’t America hate him? Didn’t he despise- no that was Alfred. That was-

            Oh.

* * *

 

            “You see, as you become infatuated with this being, much as it is infatuated with you, you begin to lose your memories. Sometimes it can be slow, other time it can be quick. Over time you forget what everything is and who everyone is, even yourself,” he explained as people’s cries and shouts began to drown out his voice. America began to holler again slamming his fist down yet again.

            Everyone stopped once he had accidentally broken the table.

            “Thank you, America.”

            “As I was saying, once it gets that far, it won’t be too long before you’d be taken away from this world into the mirror you originally performed the spell on. You would spend the rest of your days inside of it, only remembering the love for the being that brought you there. Said being would never grow tired of you and would, in the end, ensure you’d stay alive forever. In a sense, if memory serves correctly, they offer you to be their king or queen in a sense- giving you everything your heart would ever desire. You’d never want to leave for if you cannot remember your life before this, there would be no reason to go back,” he concluded as the others began to grow nervous once again.

            “B-but that didn’t happen to Grandpa Rome, he- he died because his Empire collapsed,” Italy cried out once again looking up from the table. China nodded in agreement.

            “Yes, you are correct. Germania saw what was happening, the memory loss anyway, and used this chance to kill Rome himself. After that, the final residual effects took hold on Rome. The whole Empire of Rome, so, most of Europe,” he looked at some of the Europeans who were alive at the time before sighing, “I think you may know what I am talking about.”

            Everyone looked around once again murmuring amongst each other. France stopped after a moment, eyes widening in realization. China nodded.

            “You don’t mean the Dark Ages, do you Yao?”

            The ball had dropped. Many of the nations froze, some of the nations who were alive during that time going pale. “That is exactly what I mean. As you can already tell, something like that is happening again.”

            “Something like that?” France didn’t understand.

            “When Rome fell, the Dark Ages plagued Europe. You need to think of this on a more broad scale. What exactly happened to Europe during the Dark Ages? Rome’s connections that held everyone together and its customs disappeared. His influence, while it remained in objects and structures, the physical features of it virtually disappeared. People went back to living in small isolated communities and well, you all know what happened during that time one way or another. But think about what is happening right now. Whose influence, on all of you, are we losing?”

            Everyone looked at China before realization passed through all of their expressions. The disappearing eyebrows, Canada not being able to speak English, his bear not being alive anymore, Norway and Romania’s collapse-

            “England’s,” America whispered hands tightening into fists, “We’re losing England’s influence.”

* * *

 

            Arthur opened his eyes, thinking it surely had to be the same day. The sun had set and he was alone once again. He rolled out of bed grabbing for a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. He looked around seeing a warm bedroom with a shirt left on the floor. It was Alfred’s.

            He looked up into the mirror, freezing at his face. That- that was him? It had to be. He moved his arm and fingers seeing it echoed back he smiled. That was him. His eyebrows were big.

            “Arthur! You’re awake!” Alfred came charging in slowing down before he hugged the other. The embrace was warm and filled with love. Arthur smiled hugging Alfred back.

            “Is- is that me?” he questioned the other as he pulled back.

            “Yep! You’re Arthur, my beautiful, wonderful Arthur,” Alfred’s eyes came alive with happiness smothering the other’s face in kisses soon afterwards. Arthur let out a laugh before nodding.

            “Okay, I am yours,” he was about to kiss the other back when a loud growl filled the air startling Arthur a lot. He looked down at himself frowning.

            “You must be hungry! Don’t worry we can have something to eat okay? I’ll make you some tea and we can have whatever you want to eat,” he took Arthur’s hand soon leading him downstairs. Arthur didn’t note the table was once on the other side of the hallway, he didn’t remember this place in its originality anyways.

            “What do we have to eat?”

            “Anything your heart desires! We could have a platter to see what you’d like, we have a bunch of different types of meats and vegetables along with fruit,” the other rambled on setting Arthur down in a chair going to get the tea.

            Tea was warm and sweet, he had watched Alfred put in sugar and milk to make it eve sweater and creamy as well. It was warm and comforting. Arthur liked it.

            “So, what would you like?”

            Arthur looked up from his cup, “The platter, I think. I would like to try different things.”

            Alfred nodded getting up over to the kitchen counter. Everything was rather quiet other than the pitter of rain outside. Oh yeah, it was raining today.

            “You know, you never answered me before,” Alfred told him with his back still turned. He could hear him chopping up something with a knife. Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed.

            “What did I not answer?”

            “Duh, I asked if you wanted to stay with me, y’know? So we’d always be together,” he looked over at him, throwing Arthur a smile, “It’s alright if you don’t want to of course, I just thought it be nice.”

            “You mean, forever? With you forever?”

            “Mhmm, we’d both be here forever and ever. We can wake up together and take baths together have breakfast together,” Alfred sighed happily “We can play chess and watch old movies, make fun of the bad ones. W can dance to your old phonograph and kiss each other silly.”

            Arthur listened in silence, his chest filling with warmth at those words. Is that what he wanted, to be with Alfred forever? They- they were happy and Alfred always smiled at him. So it would be okay, right? There wasn’t anything stopping him, it was always Alfred and him.

            It was always Alfred.

            “You don’t need to answer me now, just wanted you t’think about it s-”

            “Yes.”

* * *

 

            “But that can’t be true!” Someone shouted out. They caused a wave of denials and yells that filled the meeting room once again. Before America could open his mouth, Russia took out his pipe and slammed it on the table top. Everyone went silent in an instant.

            “Please, continue to explain China.”

            Yao nodded at Ivan, “You can deny it all you want, but that is what is happening. He uses black magic and he probably had this spell written down somewhere,” China concluded. No one had anything else to say, until Cuba stood up.

            “But you said he would need someone that his heart desires; couldn’t he have just asked them out? We all live pretty much forever, Gilbert is a testament to that; so why do some heebie jeebie spell instead of just doing that?”

            China frowned, not knowing the answer to that, “Maybe his pride simply got in the way, or he already did and none of us are coming forwards?”

            “ _Non_ , that is only half the truth,” everyone looked at France in an instant. The man looked full of sorrow, his eyes portraying his emotions. “He couldn’t’ have asked them out, or gotten them to date him. Not now. He has been waiting for a long time to do so, but he couldn’t,” the other let out a breath, “He tried, but he found out the truth.”

            “You know who he is in love with?”

            France looked up nodding solemnly, “ _Oui._ ”

            “Who is it dude?” America asked, wanting to fix this before it was too late. France turned to look at him, regret filling his eyes. America froze, realizing the truth himself. _The flowers-_

            “You, Alfred; he was in love with you.”

* * *

 

            Alfred looked over to him dropping the knife. The scene seemed to morph, with both of them being in his bedroom all of a sudden. Had they gone up the stairs? What was going on?

            “Yes? Yes, you mean it?” he whispered out pressing his forehead against Arthur’s.

            “Yes, I think so.”

            “D’you promise? Forever and ever?”

            Arthur looked at Alfred. His eyes were glowing, his smile was radiant. Arthur nodded bonking their heads together a bit, “I promise.”

            Something sparked within him. Arthur gasped. He felt the others hands on his chest as he was pushed back into bed. His mind was running a million miles per hour. This, this wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be here.

            He looked over to the mirror; he couldn’t see anything past it. It was broken- _on the other side_. He was on Alfred’s side of the mirror not his own- this wasn’t his house. He was all alone with only Alfred for company-

            He would never see them again. France, his brothers, the G-8, the EU; America.

            America was the boy who had given him that smile back when he was only a colony. He had left but come back. He was in love with America but- but he loved Alfred. America, America-

            He felt his cloths being removed; frantic kisses placed everywhere as a hand squeezed at his crotch-

            He was trapped.

            He would never see the others again.

            “Hey, it’s alright. I’m here. You don’t need to remember.”

            His eyes snapped over to Alfred as they slowly filled with tears. This was a monster, one that serenaded him with love, something he had created. He would live in ignorance, he supposed. England looked back over to the mirror, finally giving in as bliss overtook his mind.

            The last thought England got through was short and quiet, something Alfred would make up for now and forever. His Arthur, his Queen, would be happy now forever and ever. There was nothing to say about the others. Alfred was all he needed-

            “I love you Arthur.”

            Arthur looked up at him before smiling, “And I, you.”

**_Mirror, mirror I love you so, please don’t ever make me go._ **

            _I’m sorry._

* * *

 

            When they had arrived in England, and gotten in contact with the Prime Minister and Queen- no one had heard from England in five months. The nations hadn’t, neither had Arthur’s leaders. They were scared.

            The front door had been bared shut, so they broke in through the back. Arthur’s garden, something he had prided in tending to almost every day, was dying and wilting. America kicked the back door into the kitchen down only to find plates and mugs in the sink for two, not one.

            They walked throughout the house, France finding the portrait of him and England to be replaced, Canada finding a chess game out on a table in the sitting room never finished. The phonograph had been tugged out from hell knows where, sitting in the corner. Everything was covered in dust, as if no one had lived here for weeks at a time.

            Broken mirrors were everywhere, all of them smashed and no longer working. In the bathroom upstairs there was an extra toothbrush in the holder, in his bedroom there were some extra clothes strewn about- all in America’s size. The sheets were rumpled and unmade, one of the quilts missing.

            They went down into the basement, all of the G-8 members and China, to look around. All of his magic books were in shreds or burned to a crisp. The pictures and portraits that were missing upstairs were there too, all ripped to shreds or slashed up beyond recognition.

            A horrible smell came from the one small closet, something that Germany checked out by opening the door. He let out a grunt of surprise as a dead body fell out- one of _England._

            “Oh my god!” America shrieked trying to rush over, but China stopped him.

            “That is not him, it is his reflection,” he muttered walking over and crouching down. His neck was black and blue- it had been snapped by someone’s hands. He was all backwards, with buttons of his coat on the wrong side and the print on the tags all reversed.

            “His reflection?”

            “The other America must have killed England’s reflection so they could live over in the mirror.”

            They had gone quiet after that until France let out a scream that turned into a sob. Near England’s cauldron, a mirror lay resting against the now empty bookcase. There was blood in front of it. It was cracked up one side, but otherwise, it was not smashed like the others. It wasn’t working like a normal mirror anymore either.

            It was darkened, as if on the other side someone had turned off the light.

            In the middle there seemed to be a fog on its surface. But not on the surface facing them. Written in shaky letters that mimicked America’s handwriting, the ‘e’ being backwards, read ‘ **Mine**.’

* * *

 

Human, oh human, an Empire true; _what do I really mean to you?_

_You say that you love me as you hug, kiss, and fuck; but is that what you really mean when all you are is stuck?_

_I smile, kiss, and hug while rocking you to sleep; while_ all you can do is openly weep.

 _I feel sad, I feel sick to see you so- that is why I will_ never _let you go._

_You can join me if you so wish, **forever and ever** ; I’ll take you away, make it a huge in devour._

_I’ll kiss you, I’ll hold you, I’ll make love to you true- I’ll do more than that America can **ever** do._

_You are Arthur, my Arthur, the one I hold dear, so I will never allow anyone else near._

_I love you, I **love** you, everything will be fine-_

_I will **never** let you leave; you are mine, mine, **mine-**_

_Forget them, forget you, and only focus on **me** -_

_It’s better this way, **don’t you agree?**_


	2. Post & Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were in front of the Eiffel Tower, America holding bunny ears behind Canada’s head while Canada did the same to France. England was leaning back against the railing with a bright smile, as was France, America, and Canada. They were so happy, they were his family-  
>  It was the last photo he had added.

* * *

 

            It was raining today.

            Thunder echoed throughout the house. Lightning would flash outside of windows in bright bursts. Arthur stayed huddled beneath blankets on his couch. Alfred was getting hot chocolate for them, and then they would continue their game.

            They were playing Go Fish. It was incredibly childish. That was what his thoughts echoed anyways.

            “And he we are! A cup of hot cocoa with your name on it!”

            Arthur looked over at the other. His blanket had been tied around his shoulders like a cape. His glasses were slightly crooked but he was smiling. A warm cup was placed into his hands, Arthur smiled back.

            “Thank you,” he took a sip.

            It was sweet, not overly so, just the way Arthur liked it.

            “You’re welcome,” was responded back. Alfred hummed in content picking his cards back up after he had sat back down. More thunder rumbled overhead. “Got any threes?”

            Arthur looked down at his cards, “No, go fish.”

            This continued on and on as cards were exchanged and drawn. Arthur kept taking sips of his drink until it was gone. The thunder had lulled to a quiet hum in the background of the perfect evening. Soon enough, the game was finished. Alfred won by two pairs of cards. He let out a laugh scooting over to muse the other’s hair up with his hands.

            “Guess I win monkey butt,” Arthur grumbled before letting out a laugh when Alfred’s hands danced behind the back of his neck giving the Brit goose bumps.

            The cards fell to the floor as the table was kicked forwards a bit. They fluttered to the ground soundlessly, Arthur’s eyes flashing in brief recognition.

            _Bet_ _I can beat you in any game you throw at me Alfie_ \- the worlds were slurred, purple eyes and slightly curled hair-

            _Oh really Matt? Fine, we’ll play Go Fish!_ Wasn’t that Alfred’s voice.

            _Go Fish is for five year olds, America, grow up a bit will you?_ Himself?

            _Fuck off Artie. You’re just sad ‘cause the only thing you’ve done all night is knit in the corner ‘cause- ‘cause Frany didn’t let you drink-_ That was Alfred wasn’t it? ‘ _sides, we’d be playing Strip Go Fish. Play it with Latvia all the time._

            He sucked in a breath the voices gone as his shirt was slipped off of his shoulders, buttons already undone. Alfred kissed back up his chest sucking gently on his neck right where it sloped into his shoulder.

            “You’re so beautiful Arthur-” the other’s words were drown out with his own gasp. Warm hands, they were _everywhere-_

            “I love you so much,” Alfred bit down on Arthur’s neck, on the spot sporting a forming hickie. Arthur moaned his head tilting back further. His vision went blurry, his mind in a haze as he was laid back like porcelain. Alfred was above him still kissing and biting. His mind and limbs went to mush.

            Why would he need to know who America was anyways?

* * *

 

            Later, much later, even if there was no way to tell time; Arthur lay cuddled up practically on top of the other blond.  A hand was running through his hair causing his eyes to droop with sleep. He looked up at Alfred eyes glassed over with tiredness.

            “Could we…” his mouth felt heavy. What did he want to do?

            “Hmm?”

            Dirt. He remembers dirt, under his knees and in his hands. They were protected by gloves is bright flowers were placed into the earth. He was in a garden. It was a one man garden filled with brightness and sweet smelling things. Roses.

            Roses. And lilies. And daffodils. And weeds- pesky, pesky weeds that would turn white after a week and then fly away. Fly away free like a bird before settling down again. They’d make more. They’d be yellow, and then they’d turn white and restart. They’d be golden- _dandelions-_

            _Big_ _brother, big brother! Look at what I can do!_ A boy, a child- bright blue eyes and grass stained pants. He held a handful of them. Weeds- dandelions- with a bright smile. His thumb went underneath the top of one of them. _Mama had a baby and its head popped off!_

            It flew, soared through the air. A graceless arc before falling down, down, down- it hit Arthur on his head before falling to the ground-

            _That is simply wonderful. Do you know what else you can do with them?_

_Nuh uh, I only learned this so far._

_Well you see, if you take one like so,_ then the boy was giggling as the fuzzy flower -weed- was rubbed under his chin until it fell to the ground useless. _Now you have a chin of gold._

_You turned it gold! That’s so cool! Turn yours gold too, do it, do it; pretty please Englan-_

“Could we go out into the garden?”

            Thoughts were already dribbling past his mind, lost and soon forgotten. Alfred smiled before sighing sadly. “Maybe some other time,” thunder echoed throughout the room before he could continue. Oh right-

            It was raining today.

* * *

 

            Norway and Romania sat in complete silence. They had woken up a week after the discovery- after Arthur was no more. They felt it the second they woke up: the emptiness of where their colleague - _friend_ \- was supposed to be.

            Norway could see more of his past friends, ones whom he had not seen since he was young. Since he was the physical age of six. Romania had more cravings, more animals to take down and pop up dead with no blood left-

            They were a mess.

            They had set up that system as a benefit to them all. It kept them all in check most of the time. Kept them from using too much magic or doing something stupid. Kept them from, from _this._

            “I just do not understand how he did it. We did not feel anything out of the ordinary the whole five months this was going on Norway- a whole five fucking months,” Romania slammed the book shut he had finished looking through in anger. “We do not even know what spell he used because his books were destroyed. All of them! He had the vastest library out of all of us-”

            “I know that,” Norway looked up with a sigh setting his own book down, “The only thing we can do now is keep moving forwards. We both know that.”

            Both nations settled into silence after that. Whatever this thing was, they’d try to get to the bottom of it. They needed to.

            They needed to get England back.

* * *

 

            Canada stared at the book in silence. It was a children’s book, one that had different words along with illustrations. Both French and English littered the page. He was frustrated. So very, very frustrated. He could feel the words flowing through his head. His people knew English- he knew English.

            Arthur had taught him English ever so very long ago, when he still cried over his papa leaving and still absolutely loathed the man in his tiny little colony heart. He still had to learn, or they couldn’t communicate.

            America had helped too. He talked with him all the time: at breakfast, at lessons, at lunch, during piano practices and escapades into the woodlands behind their house. During and after dinner, when all of the lights were turned out after Arthur had told them a story with evil sorcerers, gentle princesses, and brave heroes for Alfred- and adventures of the fey and mythical creatures for Matthew.

            For Mathieu.

            He knew the English. He knew that was a fridge and that was a file but when he opened his mouth- his tongue seemed to clog and his brain fogged over- ‘ _réfrigérateur_ ’ and ‘ _fichier_ ’ fell out. They echoed throughout the space filling up the room as Matthew’s heart filled with despair.

            He knew it! He knew what everything was, how to say his own name in English. Knew who his brothers were, who is friends were, and who he was and yet-

            _‘Mon nom est Mathieu. Je suis Canada._ ’ His eyes screamed of recognition. That was Alfred.

            That was Gilbert. And Lovino. And Ludwig. And Yao. And Kiku-

            That was-

_‘Tu est qui?’_

            Tears fell to the page. Hey dripped down his nose, making little pitter patter noises. He knew this, and yet he felt like a young colony once again. He didn’t know how to say this or who that was or what he was supposed to do.

            His shoulders began to shake; the book fell from his hands-

            “Mattie, Mattie it’s alright,” calm soothing words fell on his ears. Arms wrapped him up close- a bond he felt they were neighbors.

            “Sorry- sorry,” broken words. His accent was thick, thicker than France’s even at times.

            “It’s alright. It isn’t your fault. Just relax,” the book was removed from the floor by paler hands. Pale hands much like his own and yet older larger, Russia-

            Purple met purple. The large nation smiled setting the book down on the coffee table. He put up with so much for them, so much for Alfred when he had to deal with his brother when France couldn’t.

            “It will be alright Matvey. We are here for you.”

            The northern nation curled up, his lap and arms feeling empty. Kuma was upstairs on his bed in the guestroom. He didn’t- he- it wasn’t alive anymore. More tears fell from his eyes. He was useless, worse than a colony because colonies had a reason for not being able to do anything yet. They were growing, still learning. He had already learned-

            _Listen Matthew, I know it seems to be a bit harsh around here. It is probably a lot different than what you were used to when you lived with,_ a pause with a choice of words, _France._ _But I want you to know that you are my colony. You are my little brother now and I will do everything I can in order to make you happy. Even if it does not seem like that at times._

            Bright purple eyes looked up at the crouching man. He seemed sincere, Matthew understood that much. He could speak English now- good enough anyways.

            _Okay. Thank you._

            The other smiled standing up once again. _Alright, I am glad we could reach an understanding. However, as you know I am leaving soon. Alfred can usually keep himself busy with what is here and helping out in the town a few miles from here- but I would like to give you something to occupy your time._

            England had grabbed the small colony gently lifting him up so he could see over the top of the table England had been working on. His polar bear plush lay on top of it unmoving. _What are you doing with Nanuq?_

            _He is going to become your very best friend Matthew._

            The other had meant it too. The day he left, he had given the bear back with a smile. He was bigger and warmer- _Who are you?_

            He missed that question. Even if it sometimes made him angry or want to cry he missed it. Missed it so much that it ached.

            “How about we lay down for a while, okay Mattie?”

            He looked up from the palms of his hands, feeling comforting hands on his back. Alfred, Ivan, Kuma- Nanuq-

            “Okay.”

            A reassuring smile as he was herded upstairs by the other nations. Soon he was laying down with either on one of his sides. They’d be here. They’d help him relearn.

            _I’m Matthew! Eng- Arthur says we are going to be very best friends!_

_Who’s that?_

_He’s my colon -_ a sharp intake of breath _\- he’s my big brother._

_Is he nice?_

_He’s nice. He’s-_

            “-the best,” his eyes fell closed, the whisper falling from his lips “the very, very best.”

* * *

 

            The phone wires at his house had been cut. All of them. His cell phone had been crushed into pieces and shoved under the couch. They would never have reached him that way.

            Had they even tried to see he was okay after he hadn’t been on social media or going anywhere for three months?

            No. The answer was no. Now it was too late. Arthur was gone.

            No one had noticed.

* * *

 

            Arthur stared at the door in the hallway. Alfred had told him not to go down there because it was dark and musty, no lights yet installed. He moved past it in the next moment. Not like there would be anything down their anyways.

            _The basement_ was echoed. He shook his head. It didn’t matter.

            “Arthur! Breakfast is ready!”

            Alfred was setting the table when he walked inside the kitchen. Was it bigger then it had been before? No, that couldn’t be it.

            “Hey you, I made tea,” the blond smiled setting a cup down on the table. Arthur smiled back before picking up his cup. Milk and sugar, just as he liked it. Alfred soon sat down next to him holding out a forkful of eggs.

            They had breakfast like usual. Arthur still didn’t understand why he couldn’t just pick up the- the fork- himself but.

            It didn’t matter though did it?

           Alfred hummed while doing the dishes. Arthur dried them before putting them away. Smiles, all smiles. Alfred was always smiling and happy to help.

            No, he decided, it didn’t.

* * *

 

            Russia felt responsible. Not entirely so, no; but enough to make his head scramble at times. One of their kind was gone. They were gone just like that. It wasn’t immediate sure but there was nothing wrong with the UK. Arthur just vanished. Disappeared.

            Five months.

            Could that happen to anyone else? To the Baltic’s? His sisters? Canada? America?

            It could happen to any of them. It could happen to him- if they weren’t careful.

            No one was panicking about that yet though. He wouldn’t say anything about it. If it never came up then so be it. They had other things to worry about. He didn’t like England -Arthur Kirkland- at all. He had been a shrewd little man stuck on his past.

            He had been in love with America, always had been. Russia had known this. So had France. So had many people. So had it been cruel to not say anything? America hadn’t known.

            America had kissed him. Had been in love with him. Made love with him.

            Love was a fickle thing. Even worse than they had all once thought if it could lead to this. Even with everything leading up to this point, the obsession and anger and regret before the disappearance, Russia still didn’t get it.

            England had known America didn’t love him as the older nation did. Or had he? Had he really deluded himself that far?

            Russia felt responsible.

            If he hadn’t seen the kiss would he still be here? If they had paid attention would he have been saved? If, if, _if_ \- all _if’s_

            Would America still have his older brother figure he still looked to for advice and thought of as one of his closest friends? As part of his rather small close family- Canada, France, England- as Arthur Kirkland?

            Russia didn’t know.

            He wouldn’t now. Not ever. He could only watch as Matthew wept. As Alfred tried to stay strong as he was slowly but surely crumbling like his brother was. They’d hold each other close, Matthew mumbling in French and broken English as Alfred usually remained silent.

            They’d both cry every time Matthew asked the question- _who are you?_

            Matthew would stop, eyes filled with recognition in the next second. Alfred would freeze heart filling with dread because- what if the next time it didn’t happen? Ivan would just smile and wait, no matter how long it took. Matthew knew him, he knew that.

            They knew it.

            So he’d wait and observe. Keep his thoughts to himself and keep a bottle of vodka handy. He’d hold them both -the new world twins who used to be brimming with so much _hope_ \- and smile kindly.

            It was his fault. Not entirely so, true, but they all had a hand in it. Didn’t they?

* * *

 

            When they got together to have another meeting, no one spoke out of turn for once. No one commented on the empty seat next to France. It was the last thing they addressed. Romania and Norway taking up the podium after speaking with China.

            It had been a potion. That’s why they hadn’t sensed it when it had been made. He had only done a brief spell in order to activate it. They couldn’t tell different spells from one another through the bond, only that magic was being used. It was a normal amount, to the point where they probably did feel the initial spell.

            Did they remember it now?

            No.

            They knew this thing, whatever it was, had to have some type of energy source. If it had been sapping magical energy from Arthur they would have felt it. Could it be some other type, they didn’t know.

            China did. Yes, it could. It sapped emotional energy along with another force they still did not understand. The thing fed off of Arthur’s emotions. Off of his hurt with the real world -with them- and off of the pure love and adoration Arthur had possessed for Alfred.

            They wouldn’t have felt that.

            In accordance with that, there was almost no way for Arthur to get out of this. Once this thing had your attention it sapped away at your brain, made it seem as though everything was fine. If you went along with what it said everything would be fine.

            The doors and been barricaded from the inside. All means of communication had been cut. All windows had been locked. Everything that had been present in the house that would deter Arthur’s thoughts from this being was destroyed. Every photograph or portrait that was their was destroyed. All of his magic books and items were destroyed. _[perhaps to cover up the things tracks as well, or to stop them from chasing after him]_

            Anything pertaining to anyone but England had been destroyed both upstairs and down, shoved into a forgotten closet that was almost never opened. The portrait -the picture of it- of him and France was shredded. The coat Japan had forgotten after his last visit was too in shreds.

            Anything and everything damaged beyond repair.

            Even in storage, where the clothing of his past left untouched -the rocking horse New Zealand remembers using in the Brit’s home when he was not even three feet tall had been torn to bits. All of the drawings of the wild life Australia had given his old care taker were burned, charred, left in a pile of ashes. As was the stuffed snake he was sure England hadn’t kept and yet he had-

            The tea set Hong Kong had given him was smashed to dust. As were the Christmas presents he sent the other every year. Most were old records England had claimed he adored. That he had thanked Hong Kong for multiple times.

            The wild life book that Canada had given him and updated for the other every so often had been ripped. Every page over and over again. So were the scribbly drawings had made the other when he was a colony. The old clothes, the white dresses with ribbons on the collar, riddled with holes and left to rot. The figurine the Canadian had carved for him in 2000. It had been of the legendary Queen Tatiana and King Oberon hovering over England when he was a child-

            It too was destroyed.

            Every letter Arthur had ever gotten from America since the time he was known as the ‘British Colonies of’ along with the ones he never sent were logged with water. The second to last remaining toy soldier from long ago in existence- Arthur had one, Alfred had one- was in pulp.

            This thing had done everything it could to make Arthur have a one track mind.

            But was there any way to get him back?

            Was there any way to find him?

            Any way to reverse this?

            Canada opened his mouth after America had quieted down the room. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t. He broke down crying in front of everyone. Frustrated- so fucking frustrated-

            They had all lost his influence. Some of it was harder to see than others. The eyebrows were gone. As were some of their acquired tastes for English tea. Canada couldn’t speak proper English- then again neither could Hong Kong or India.

            America couldn’t even look at a hamburger. He tried to eat one, he had, it had tasted so horrible that he had vomited.

            He had cried for an hour- it had been England’s cooking that made him like them.

            All of the scars he had inflicted were gone. France suddenly had not felt as heart heavy about Joan- for she had died but, he didn’t know who was responsible now if no one was there to yell at and to blame. Humans didn’t understand such stuff, they killed each other everyday.

            He couldn’t blame England’s people.

            America’s birthday that had passed a few weeks prior had been different too. There wasn’t any dread looming over America about him not coming because he couldn’t even if he wanted to.

            Everything was a mess. Nothing was as it should be- how could this have happened?

* * *

 

            No. There wasn’t.

* * *

 

            Arthur yawned as gentle hands went through his hair. Blunt nails rubbed against his scalp in soothing motions making him all the more sleepy. Alfred hummed softly behind him for a few minutes as the washing continued shampoo beginning to slide down the back of his neck.

            “Alright. I’m gonna rinse it out okay?” Arthur only nodded slightly, his mouth and eyes closing tight. Warm water washed over the top of his head the soap soon all gone. The water began to drain.

            Arthur was soon wrapped up in a fluffy towel steam still slowly making its way through the air. The bathtub seemed larger than it had before, as did the whole room. The tile and counter were shinning and new. Two sinks next to each other had tooth brushes and other things strewn about.

            He was soon wearing boxers his hair being brushed by the other, gentle kisses placed on the back of his neck right where it met his back. On the small top bump of his spine. Arthur shivered.

            “Let’s turn in early today, yeah?”

            He nodded with a quiet mumble his hand being grasped as he was lead across to their room. The carpet was soft under Arthur’s feet, the colors in the room warm and inviting. Alfred picked him up with a breathy laugh kissing his nose and his cheeks before setting him down.

            He doesn’t remember the bed being as big or soft as it is. Perhaps a long, long time ago it was. It was a poster, we curtains hanging down and tied to the posts encasing them in light green.

            Alfred wrapped around him, his arms going around Arthur’s waist tugging his back to his chest. His chin rested on top of his head. Their legs tangled together.

            “Good night Arthur, I love you.”

            “I love you too,” was replied on instinct. Alfred smiled, snuggled into and under the covers and fell asleep.

            Arthur didn’t remember why he loved the other. But that was okay right?

            Tears fell from his eyes for no reason as more thunder began to echo everywhere once again. Everything was okay. Alfred was here, he was here. They were here together forever-

            “ _So much_.”

* * *

 

            They had agreed someone needed to clean out his house. It couldn’t remain the way it was. Covered in dust and broken memories. France agreed to do it. Himself.

            He was met with no objections.

* * *

 

            The house was now stagnant. Dust covered most surfaces. No one had been here in two months- not since the discovery. Everything is as it was the remnants of what might have been a happy final life in this world.

            He started to clean. He threw out the shreds of things, of once precious items held close to England in some way. Portraits, broken tea sets, letters, other gifts such as clothing and little trinkets.

            The kitchen was cleaned of all foot and all plates and utensils. It was left bare, refrigerator turned off. The sitting room and living rooms were dusted off, the remains of the cell phone thrown away. The furniture was covered in white sheets; the phonograph was carefully taken apart, all of the surviving records packed away. All left over trinkets and doodads were wrapped in bubble wrap then packed away.

            Everything was labeled, from every room in the house.

            France refused to cry, he had stopped crying. Stopped crying a week after he accepted the truth. A month after denial. How could England have been so stupid? How could he have been so stupid? He knew something had been wrong with the other, but he turned to look the other way.

            Five months, the other had been missing for five months and he hadn’t done a damn thing. England, Arthur, the one he had known when he was not yet a teenager. When he was still a boy who ran around in cloaks spouting tales of fairies and unicorns.

            Was it wrong to miss that?

            To miss the days they’d run after each other, may it have been in anger or childish happiness. Flower chains and sharing bread and apples underneath trees. Pure happiness in laughter that as few and far in between, for the boy was a little green eyed gremlin. One with dimples and freckles during the warm months-

            No, he wouldn’t cry.

            Soon every room was dusted, both upstairs and down. Furniture was covered in sheets. Small things packed away and labeled. The basement was left alone for now. Only his back office was left.

            The door had to be broken down.

            Papers were strewn about, paperwork that was never delivered and never signed. Leftovers of what appeared to be tea and some type of scone remained on the desk along with Arthur’s reading glasses.

            He cleaned that room up too, using the shredder to get rid of the old documents. There were bookcases filled with books, all left untouched. France traced along their spines, many of them well worn from use. He stopped on one of them, eyes sparking in hope.

            He gripped it with the tips of his fingers carrying it over and sitting down at the desk. It was slowly opened to the first page.

            A photo copy of a painting of Arthur as a child was in his view. It was stored in a vault in Switzerland, the original one that is, as were many of the nations old possessions for safe keeping. He kept flipping seeing more photo copies of more pictures. England and his brothers, all young and covered in dirt. Rewritten copies of notes he took as a child about different types of creatures and ingredients for potions.

            A picture of him and France, him in that old blue dress and England in his green cloak, flowers in their hair and around their necks.

            He kept flipping, photo after photo passing over his vision. Then he stopped, allowing it to rest on a singular page. The description was written in loopy cursive, regal in all its glory.

            _‘Alfred, Mathieu, Francis, Myself; 1726, Virginia.’_

            The photo of a portrait lost in the Blitz in the Second World War stared back at him. Alfred and Matthew- both young in tiny little clothes of pure white and ribbons along with tiny little shoes. Matthew sat in his lap while Alfred sat in England’s. They were all smiling. All together.

            He kept turning the pages sucking in a breath. England’s view had gone obsessive in his last few decades of life sure, but this was different.

            Pictures, so many, of Alfred, Matthew, and himself. England here and there up through everything after the Revolution. Many were taken during and after World War Two, a whole twelve pages, some of them even in slight color.

            America in his piloting seat. Matthew sleeping leaning up against some wall. France being liberated- him being swamped in hugs by the three other blonds.

            All during the Cold War, the four of them together so many times-

            _‘Family; 2013, Paris. Happy Birthday Frog.’_

            They were in front of the Eiffel Tower, America holding bunny ears behind Canada’s head while Canada did the same to France. England was leaning back against the railing with a bright smile, as was France, America, and Canada. They were so happy, they were his family-

            It was the last photo he had added.

            France let out a choked noise tears dripping into his lap. His shoulders began to shake and he finally gave in. Sobs filled a room his hands meeting his eyes.

            Arthur was gone.

            He never told him, never stopped antagonizing him. He was an _asshole_ towards him. England, Arthur had hated him. He knew what was going to happen that once he found out he’d be heartbroken-

            He hadn’t helped he had looked the other way-

            _This was all his fault-_

“ _Je t'aime tellement. Je suis désolé. Pardonne-moi, je vous en prie._ _Angleterre_.”

            He sobbed even harder.

            _I love you._

* * *

 

            Arthur stared at the basement door again. It was the basement, he told himself. It had to be. The door seemed small compared to the tall hallways. The house was big, extremely so.  He didn’t know what to do with himself. Alfred was still asleep.

            He wanted to see what was down there.

            So, Arthur opened the door and peered inside only to see stairs that lead into darkness. He frowned but chose to walk in anyways. He went down, down, down until he reached the basement. It was colder than the other floors of the house and musty. There was no light coming from anywhere.

            He turned looking around closely only to spot a dark sheet over the top of a light source. Noises were coming from the other side, shuffling and the crinkling of papers and plastic. Arthur slowly walked over, not wanting to make any noise himself. He tugged the sheet off to see-

            The basement. But it was trashed, covered in burnt and ripped pieces of papers. Book covers and pages along with photos and portraits. His eyes widened.

            There was a man.

            He gulped, raising his knuckles.

            Arthur tapped on the glass, only once, for his eyes to then meet piercing blue.

* * *

 

            Thank god the dead body had been taken out of the basement the day after they found it. Francis would have vomited. The room still held destroyed books and pictures. Still held the blood on the floor and the cauldron where the deed was done.

            He had multiple trash bags. France began to fill them. He kept piling in things until there was no room for anything else-

            The other England’s body had been given a proper burial. It had been a sad day, and yet, the sun had shown.

            He kept cleaning.

            Kept holding back tears.

            Kept putting piece after piece of England’s life away.

            _‘Tap!’_

            He turned to look at the mirror, his breath stopped- bright green eyes.

            “England.”

* * *

 

            Everyone remained silent as the sun shown overhead birds chirping loudly and proudly. They were unaware of what was happening. America and Canada remained silent their hands finding their way to the other’s- Russia standing behind them with a hand on either of their shoulders.

            France stood next to Canada, a large bouquet of roses in his arms.

            The Queen backed away from the casket after a while tears running down her face, along with her daughter’s, a baby nestled in her arms. Even the baby had sensed something- for it was quiet. Too quiet.

            France stepped forwards next placing the bouquet into the open casket into the other’s arms instead. They had chosen to bury him in his favorite button up and sweater vest combo along with black slacks and well worn brown dress shoes. One of his earrings was in.

            It was as if England were asleep and not dead.

            He lowered his head, urging himself not to cry in front of everyone. He could hear the rest of the Commonwealth- all grouped together sniffling and sobbing behind him somewhere.

            “May you find happiness where you are, old friend.”

            He looked up at the other’s face one last time. Roses surrounded his body, so calm so peaceful.

            “I wish you good rest.”

            He stepped back to where he was, only for Canada and America to take his place, Russia staying behind for privacy. The two brothers said their own respects placing something into the casket each before backing away not saying another thing.

            It was lowered into the ground some time later, France taking the boy’s and Russia back to his flat in London to spend the night. He had plenty of room- he asked the two what he had put in later once the stars were out.

            They couldn’t see them, but it was the thought that counted.

            Canada had made him a figure of Chibiabos, a god of the dead and brother of Nanabozho who had always watched over the two of them since they were children along with Nanuq. He was a kind god of the underworld, one of them. He had hoped for Arthur to be protected by him and to have a kind afterlife.

            America had given him a dream catcher. He had chosen not to elaborate, but there was something else as well.

            France didn’t ask. America was ever grateful, a small smile showing up on his face.

            Both refused to cry. Not then.

            They couldn’t.

* * *

 

            France felt his heart stop. England’s hand lowered in his lap, green eye filled with confusion. France walked over slowly sitting down in front of the once darkened mirror. His eyes filled with hope, oh dear god, he hoped with all of his heart this was the truth-

            “England?” he asked again, much quieter than before.

            Arthur tilted his head, “My name is Arthur. Who are you?”

            “I’m-” a shuttering breath, “I’m Francis. We knew each other, a long time ago.”

            Arthur’s eyebrows rose up in what appeared to be interest, “We… we did? Was I- were we friends?”

            “Yes,” France pressed his hand against the glass, “The very best.”

          Arthur lifted his hand up slowly before pressing his hand against the other’s. “Okay.”

            He smiled. France sighed in relief. Maybe he could fix this.

* * *

 

            _This should be fun._

* * *

 

            Christmas was an affair. America was hosting this year, as he did pretty much every other year. He smiled, greeting everyone with cheer and a big hug. Canada stood talking with Romano, only slipping into French if he didn’t pay attention.

            It had gotten easier.

            A huge Christmas tree had been set up with presents from all around the world. Not everyone could make it this year, but they’d been sent in from everywhere. Missile toe had been hung. The punch was probably spiked, twice, once by South Korea and again for good measure by Prussia.

            America made sure to get Russia and himself to wear the ugliest sweaters as possible because it was American tradition damnit!

            France was late though. He usually showed up sooner to help make cookies, but not this year.

            “They’re coming right?” America looked over to see Canada frowning a mug of cocoa in his hands. America nodded slinging an arm over his shoulder.

            “Probably just had problems in customs. You know how it is,” they both did. Even though they were nations they still had t go through with the whole process explaining yes, I am my own nation, yes, I do need my gun, no, I am not leaving it behind thank you. Want to speak with the President?

            “Humans are… are… uh,” the other paused eyes looking around in confusion.

            “Dumb? Fucking morons? Stupid?”

            “I was going to say silly.”

            America shook his head before smiling wide. “Hold up, my man’s here,” Canada snorted as the other jogged over to the northern nation throwing himself at his back. Russia laughed hugging America once he had turned around.

            Everyone was happy and exchanging pleasantries over drinks. It was so nice.

            Hours ticked by slowly, presents beginning to be opened. Canada was getting worried. He looked around for France still, yet he only spotted the nations he had seen already. He made his way to America, seeing him and Russia talking with Ukraine and Lithuania.

            “Al! I don’t think France is here yet,” he called out. The people in their little group turned to look at him soon realizing the truth.

            “Holy shit, you’re right. Hold up we’re gonna go find’em. See you soon big guy,” America then grabbed Canada’s arm making his way back through the crowd. Sometime during the night, the blond had obtained reindeer antlers. Probably another gag gift from Prussia.

            “You try his cell?”

            “No one was picking up. I figured it might be that way earlier because he would need to turn it off on the plane but,” the other stopped talking once the doorbell was heard. They both let out a breath.

            “Guess he was just running late,” America ran towards the door jumping up and clicking his heals together with a whoop. Canada followed behind him.

            America opened the door to two people -green eyes filled with- with-

            Fear.

* * *

 

            Russia hadn’t been right. Keeping his thoughts to himself was a horrible, horrible idea. It was his fault. Then again:

            Wasn’t it everyone’s?

* * *

 

            Arthur opened his eyes the ceiling blurry with sleep. He looked around, reaching over for Alfred finding the sheets cold. He sat up, a headache swarming his head. He slumped forwards, holding his head with a wince.

            “Alfred!?”

            “Hey, I’m right here. No need to yell,” he jumped as a hand brushed against his shoulder. Alfred was sitting in a chair next to the bed a worried frown on his face, “Are you alright? You took a nasty fall down the stairs.”

            “What? I did?” he looked at the other in confusion, that- it couldn’t be so.

            “Yes, I was very worried, I thought you had gotten seriously hurt Arthur. You need to be more careful okay?”

            He nodded, eyebrows furrowing together. That couldn’t be right, he had gone into the basement but he had not tripped and fallen. There had been a man, a man in the mirror! Named Francis. He was nice but then he had to go because he thought Alfred would wake up but, then- nothing.

            The rest was blank.

            “You mean the basement stairs then?”

            “Basement?” Alfred looked even more confused than him, “You took a tumble from upstairs into the hallway downstairs. We don’t have a basement.”

            Arthur looked up at the other, finding that he wasn’t lying. Didn’t look like he was lying. “Oh, oh I am sorry. Must have just been a dream then,” he mumbled out the last part before rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry.”

            “No, no; it’s alright, Come here,” the other crawled into bed before gently grabbing the other pulling him into his lap. Arthur sighed in happiness as a kiss was placed on his forehead then his cheeks, “Was it a cool dream?”

            “Mhmm. There was a man in the mirror down there. His name was Francis, he was nice,” he explained cuddling his head against the other’s shoulder. Alfred let out a laugh rubbing his hands along the other’s sides.

            “Sounds interesting.”

            They fell into silence before Arthur shifted again placing a kiss on the others lips, “Do you think we could go outside after breakfast?”

            Alfred smiled before shaking his head, hands tightening just a bit. Oh right-

* * *

 

            _You are Francis. You seem nice. Your love, I like it. I love you too. I love you **so much.**_

* * *

 

            The party stopped by that point. China and Norway and Romania and Russia- running over to see both of the twins crying, screaming, on the floor. A crash could be heard, glass shattering and photographs falling from the hands of the people at the door.

            They were with the French and British government. They remained silent.

            No one knew what was going on.

            Russia grabbed hold of both of the twins. One sobbing in French. The other flat out starting to scream.

            This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not now. Arthur was already gone. Not this, please not this.

            Russia was filled with regret in an instant. He looked at the photos. France’s dead body in front of the mirror-

            The buttons were on the wrong side.

* * *

 

            They asked when France said he would be able to make it to the party- when they had last seen or really heard from him. Alfred looked up, eyes red tears still flowing-

            _August._ Early August.

            Five months.

* * *

 

_I like you a lot, you know. Your hair is so long and soft. Your eyes are like the ocean. Your smile is of the sun, and yet full of sadness. I wish you wouldn’t be so sad-_

_You do not need to be so sad Francis. You can come here, with me. I’ll keep you safe. Forever and **ever-**_

_Of course Francis. I’m Arthur, I’m England. We are a family, remember? Me and you and Alfred and Matthew. They’ll be here, if you want. We can all be together._

_-because I love you so, Francis. It is okay, you can let go. Let go, come to me. I’ll be here always. I will always love you-_

_Yes. Forever and always._

* * *

 

            -he had forgotten. They couldn’t go outside.

            It was raining today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought it would turn out happy! No!!! Have fun!


End file.
